


Corruption and Poetry

by nothingandeverything3



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Game: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingandeverything3/pseuds/nothingandeverything3
Summary: There were only two things in this cold world that Éloise Vasiliev treasured more than anything.Her camera and her uncle's poetry.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 40





	1. poem one

**Author's Note:**

> A/n & intro: HI!! If you’re here from Red, then you might be surprised to see me here making a Cold War fanfic. I was going to hold off on this at least until I finish up Red, but I loved the campaign so much I just had to hop on it 
> 
> The soundtrack and outfit design for the characters and the overall nostalgic feel to the campaign was AMAZING. 
> 
> (-,: dw , I will keep updating both fanfics and I’m actually thinking of publishing a third for a completely different fandom! I’m pretty excited and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing and hope you all have fun reading it too! 
> 
> Thanks for all the love and comments, for giving my stuff the time of day lol. I truly appreciate it and hope I do the characters justice. I notice there’s been a lot of Bell (reader/ OC fanfics) so I was really hyped to add a new OC to the mix to spice it up a little. I’m still unsure how to write for Bell, but I’m leaning towards a Bell w he/him pronouns and see how it goes. There will be a lot of foreign language in here but I provided context clues so it’s not necessary to translate everything (-: I love the 80s and wanted to make this as historically accurate as possible, w the right translations so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong about anything! Thanks friends!

_I do not know you solnyshko_   
_And you do not know me_   
_When papa is old and frail, I hope he hands you this solnyshko_   
_I wonder who you will turn to when he is gone_   
_No dedushka. No babushka_   
_And I am pained to know I cannot be there for you_   
_Oh solnyshko._   
_My brother's only child._   
_My only blood left._

_Burn bright_   
_Blind those who have burdened you with loss- so young and innocent_   
_Mama was beautiful and I am sure you mirror her beauty_   
_My brother has told me of you both, how you give him life_

_I only know your name, solnyshko- your French name_   
_And I now feel as though I know the whole language_

_Eloise . Eloise. Eloise_   
_A warrior_   
_How your name fits you so_

_Solynshko_   
_I'm sorry that I have dimmed your light._


	2. the prologue

If there was one thing Eloise despised the most, it was the weather in Berlin. Not that the weather mattered per say, because she hated it no matter the weather. It could rain in Berlin and she would sulk and it could rain in Paris and she would twirl around with joy. A warm day in Berlin was a drag. A cold day in Berlin was rigid.

 _Je déteste Berlin._ She'd mutter in the mirror. _Je déteste Berlin._

It didn't matter what side of the _mur de Berlin_ she was walking, it all felt rather ominous and leery, like a cloud of melancholy was trailing behind her everywhere she went. So why stay in Berlin, Eloise? _Pourquoi_?

Simple- and quite complicated. She has to.

Eloise wanted to write books more than anything and share her words with the rest of the world, hoping the world would actually read them.

But why would the rest of the world bother itself with reading silly books of fairytales when the threat of another world war was bubbling in the cauldron. When talks of communists and capitalists dominated every corner of life.

Papa forbade her- made her swear to never draw that attention to herself, as an author normally does when the rulers go on witch hunts for the common enemy. And Eloise read all the old newspaper clippings of authors who were taken away under the suspicions of being spies hiding behind the guises of innocent writers. Whose literature were picked apart in the desperate search of any hint of red that could be blotched in between the lines.

 _Eloise,_ he had warned. _I lived in those times. I fled my motherland to be safe from all this- to keep you and your mama safe. It is okay to blend in. Please._

He had said it in French and in Russian.

She promised Papa. _Fais-moi confiance._ Trust me, Eloise whispered. She promised she would not write all while her nimble fingers were crossed behind her back and mentally prayed that Papa would not be upset with her as he realizes his daughter has lied to him on his deathbed once he has reached heaven above.

 _I am not a fool_ , he croaked watching the shame flood her face as the tears trickled down. _You are just like your uncle. Never listened to anyone._

As he hacked and coughed, her breath hitched at the mention of another who shared the same blood as them- someone she has never known. Someone who was never mentioned.

_Dyadya. Oncle. I have an uncle._

Before the onslaught of questions could escape her mouth, a cold shaking hand curled around her own with a weak grip and that was enough to stop her. _Your oncle...he was a poet, mon cherie. Imprisoned back home in Russia for writing against the regime. Even wrote of you when you were a baby whilst imprisoned. I flipped through them all and I wanted to wait for this moment to gift you it in the hopes that you may find comfort. I've kept it in the closet all these years for you._

Tears begin to well in his pained eyes as he cups his daughter's wet cheeks, trying his best to brush hers away while failing to keep his own at bay.

 _Tell mama I wish I could've known her and that I love her so much. Je t'aime, papa. Je t'aime beaucoup._ Papa returns the sentiment, struggling to keep his eyes open and Eloise goes through a stage of franticness as he begins to slip away from this life. A mother lost in childbirth. A father lost to illness. Oh, this cruel world.

_Comment il s'appelle, papa? Mon oncle. Comment il s'appelle?_

_Au revoir, Eloise. I love you, my dear. My heart and reason._

She was never told what her uncle's name was, because right then and there, a choked breath escaped his lungs and her papa's eyes rolled back into his head, an agonizing wail tearing from Eloise at the disturbing sight. The room was filled with silence and she desperately felt at the lasting warmth on her father's cheeks as the little color left began to drain from his face. Death was not a pleasant thing to witness, nor a calming one. She only hoped- prayed- that papa was at peace now, reunited with mama. Even for a brief moment, she wondered if she, too, could join them but tried her best to shake the thoughts off.

The newfound uncle and the said journal was pushed to the side, Eloise so engrossed in mourning the death of the only family she's ever known throwing herself over her papa's lifeless body as she sobbed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else made sense. And now she was robbed of a name belonging to someone she could have met and trusted. An uncle who would see to it that his niece would not be depraved of loved ones.

It took Eloise a year after his passing to actually retrieve the journal from the closet. Three months after successfully getting a job as a journalist. In a way, it meant that she would not break her father's promise. She was not an _author_. She was a _journalist_ and an impressive one at that. However, it was not the writing that caught people's attention, but surprisingly, it was the photos she took.

An audience was not the only thing that Eloise Vasiliev captured with her photography. The quality was _très incroyable_. What she chose to capture was even more so. Eventually, she had heard her calling and realized, maybe she would not have to write after all. Maybe she would not have to disgrace papa.

Eloise Vasiliev had become a full time photographer working for numerous newspaper companies in France. For such a young woman, she had managed to leave a subtle mark on the reporting world in Paris in the short span of a month and life was seemingly beginning to look up. That was, _before_ discovering the poetry her uncle had wrote.

It was not a journal. In fact, it was all clipped together in such a messy stack that it could have been easily mistaken as rubbish. The papers were filthy and stained with blood and tears, torn and wrinkled. These were obviously smuggled contraband and she had nearly dropped them all out of horror. Some were not even written on paper at all, but used napkins and torn fabric instead.

They told the tales of a man locked in a cage like a beaten animal who had seen more than one man could possibly handle. Bloodshed, torture, and betrayal. This was a bitter man who had only shared softness when writing of a baby girl he wished to hold in his arms. _Her_.

She trailed her fingers over the first poem, wondering if this meant she had held her uncle's hand for the first time. Kissing her fingertips and running it over the ink once more, she softly cried at the thought.

_The prologue to my story_   
_A very grueling one_   
_Though I have forgotten my life before this chapter_   
_I wanted to be a free man so I became one_   
_Locked in a cell with brothers who wanted freedom_

_I am no survivor_   
_I am a mere man who loves the land that has mothered him_   
_Oh mother Russia_   
_How your corruption wounds me._

Eloise slowly cupped her mouth, a pang of sympathy hits her chest for the man she has yet to meet. And she _will_ meet him- she swore to it. The only living relative she knew of and he was locked away in a cell, nameless to her and his exact whereabouts still unknown. Was he out? Was he still in that forsaken cage, even years later? When was he arrested? Which one of his writings led him to scorn mother Russia?

Eloise made connections. Moved her pieces wisely and did not attract enough attention to herself to warrant any suspicion. In years to come, the young woman became a photographer for more high profile organizations. From newspaper companies to government organizations, Eloise was unknown to ordinary citizens, but prized to ordinary officials.

She was quiet with her camera. Lurking in the shadows. Kept her mouth shut and spoke only when spoken to. It did not come as a surprise when Eloise Vasiliev successfully landed herself a position in _la Service de documentation extérieure et de contre-espionnage._ It was when her superiors finally came to the realization that nothing went past Eloise and her camera. No, she wasn't an action packed spy equipped with a plethora of weapons. All she had was a pistol, her brain, and- of course- a camera. She did not lead operations nor did she carry out assassinations.

They point, she captured.

Anyone looking from the outside in would think that this was a mere case of a talented, young French woman who only wanted to report to her country. However, Eloise had her own motives for getting to where she was. It was one step closer to investigating the USSR. To interview with different people in Europe who _might_ have just seen her _dyadya_ at one point or another. Her uncle, oh her poor uncle.

Her eagerness only heightened when catching word of a mole in the KGB working closely with the DST in France, feeding them with sensitive intel. _Tres bon. So close._

During the spring of 1980, Eloise became riskier with her next moves. Took pictures of things she was not supposed to and kept them for herself. Met with clients that went unsupervised and when she happened to be bugged, she'd silently write down questions on a napkin for an 'off the air' interview.

_Have you heard of a Russian poet with the surname Vasiliev? Oui ou non?_

_How many gulags are there that you know of?_

_Do you recognize this handwriting? Un homme russe. Non?_

When information became clearer and the puzzle pieces slowly began to fit, there was a sudden change in assignment. It was unexpected and hazy, but it was obvious she would not be given clarity to the situation at hand. However, when trained to learn the German language and culture, Eloise somewhat understood. Right when she might've thought she finally grasped what was in store for her, she was pushed back to square one when discovering she would be going to the fragmented city of Berlin.

Alone, that is.

Never has Eloise traveled by herself on assignment, much less that far away from her home. To say she felt a bit apprehensive of accepting the job was an understatement, however, Eloise realized just how much closer she would be to where the last known location of her uncle was and greedily accepted it. Not that she had much of a choice in the matter, anyway.

And Eloise grew to hate Berlin. It was not the people that caused her disdain. It wasn't even the Stasi, who always managed to make her job more difficult than it had to be- it was _their_ job after all. There was just something about the city that chilled her to the bone. A warm day in Berlin was a drag. A cold day in Berlin was rigid.

 _Tout est bien qui finit bien._ All's well that ends well.

Perhaps all of this will not be in vain and perhaps she'll find the information she has been hunting for all these years in this foreign place that seemed to forbade something unfavorable. Something _étrange_. Strange.

Nonetheless, Eloise willingly hid in the meat truck that smuggled her into East Berlin with nothing but her documents, camera, and her uncle's poetry. When reaching the dingy, small apartment on the outskirts of the city that she was given, all the young French woman could think of in bed was the first piece of writing she's ever read from her uncle. The words haunted her.

_Oh mother Russia_   
_How your corruption wounds me._


	3. your camera is a weapon

_ December 28th, 1980 _

The city was much busier than it normally would be, but it was not terribly out of the ordinary as New Years Eve was steadily approaching around the corner. _Bonne année_ , indeed. Even as she walked the streets of East Berlin, she would catch bits and pieces of conversations between the Stasi officers discussing their plans for the New Year. However, she was not here to observe the festivities on this side of the wall and maintained her focus on the task at hand. Old habits die hard when you have trained yourself to think like a journalist.

As Eloise felt the light sprinkle of rain fall on the top of her head, she flexed her leather clad fingers and swiftly opened her umbrella to use as a barrier from the wet weather. Other pedestrians seemed to have mimicked this action and soon, everyone on the street bore their own umbrellas much to her dismay. _Magnifique._

" _Merde,"_ she quietly cursed under breath, trying not to look frantic as she searched for a specific umbrella. Of course it would be raining today of all days. _Parapluie marron_. _Just look for the brown one in one hand a suitcase in the other, Eloise_. She unintentionally met eyes with an officer who had walked past her and she quickly sent a small, flirtatious smile. This seemed to keep any of his suspicions at bay as the man subtly tipped his hat with a smirk and continued on his way- that always seemed to do the trick.

Her pace gradually slowed down when approaching the cafe that she was told would be across from the suspected _rendezvous_ and made one last fleeting glance of the streets. As time went further and further into the night, the more aggressive the Stasi became with the stops and questioning. A couple of citizens were being manhandled, interrogated on the spot, and under the officers's microscopes for scrutiny. Batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips would no longer keep her safe at this time.

Transmissions filled her left ear, her hair concealing the earpiece that had been mostly silent throughout the day, which meant the plan was going to commence soon. Eloise looked down at her watch and realized it was almost 19:00 with a grimace. " _Renarde._ Are you in position _?"_

 _"Non._ Not yet," the young woman shook the droplets from her umbrella when it was closed, looking around just one more time- just incase. "I do not see them."

There was a pause. "Do not worry about that. Go inside, like we said."

" _D'accord_." She was a bit apprehensive at the absence of the two men, but continued to enter the quaint café at the firm instruction, anyways. Eloise could smell the powerful aroma of coffee and, although it was nothing like the cafés back home, a wave of nostalgia crashed over her. In that moment, she missed France more than ever.

Fortunately, there were a few open window seats and Eloise immediately made the wise choice of being seated somewhere in the very back- if any officers were to come in and inspect the building, she would have more time to evade any questioning when positioned farther away from the entrance. She pulled out the chair and settled at her table with a tired sigh, casually taking off her brown coat as a waitress approached her.

" _Guten_ _Abend_ ," they greeted. "What can I get for you, _Fräulein_?"

Eloise smiled politely. " _Einen Kaffee bitte_."

Scribbling on the notepad with a nod, the waitress left her alone to get the requested coffee. It had been quite some time since having been in East Berlin that she's gotten the chance to enjoy a nice, warm cup of coffee. It was almost a relieving thought to know that in a few minutes, the bitter liquid would be settled in her stomach, but nonetheless, Eloise had to forget about the drink and focus her attention on what was going to happen outside that window.

"Are you settled in the cafe, _Renarde_?"

She was never fond of that nickname. " _Oui."_

"Have they shown themselves, yet?"

The French woman's silence was an answer in it of itself and Eloise patiently tapped her fingers atop the wooden table in front of her. A group of Stasi officers walk past the other side of the glass and she slyly flipped her eyes towards the ceiling to make it seem as though she had not been staring outside longer than an ordinary person normally would. From her peripherals, she could tell they did not take special note of her as they eventually retreat from her line of sight.

As casually as possible, gloved fingers still gently thrumming on the surface, Eloise observed the other customers who also seemed to have been craving some coffee that night. Some are seemingly calm. Some- troubled. However, none were watching her much like how she was watching them and that was a good enough sign to continue.

When she dared another glance out into the dimly lit street, Eloise did a double take at the sight of two men huddled closely to one another- one carrying a _brown umbrella_ and _a leather briefcase_. _Très bon..._

The conversation was obviously rushed and seemingly tense as one of the men became more animated when talking. He would throw his hands up into the air and gesture between them aggressively, Eloise watching the little _rendezvous_ carefully as she retrieved a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket.

"Franz Kraus is here," she whispered quietly into the mic.

"Understood. You know what we want."

Eloise held back a startle once the waitress returned with a steaming cup in hand, unintentionally interrupting the important moment.

 _"Dankeschön_."

A _'merci'_ had almost slipped out in the heat of the moment, but thankfully enough, she knew better than to make such a reckless and silly mistake. Once the waitress finally went away to take more orders from the newly seated customers, Eloise took a careful sip of the coffee with her eyes glued back onto her quote unquote targets.

No one would think much of a woman enjoying some coffee with a nice cigarette. It was a very common pairing in Europe and only the most paranoid of people would question her innocent looking box of cigarettes- the box that conveniently, and quite illegally, hid a Tessina camera in it. Before taking one rolled up tobacco stick, Eloise fiddled with the case playfully, but in actuality, was attempting to get the angle just _parfait_.

In a split second, her finger reached inside to click the button that captured the image of Kraus exchanging briefcases with an unidentified person- most likely a smuggler- and Eloise kept her gaze away from them as she did so. As soon as the photo was taken, she pulled out a cigarette when taking her fingers out of the box and lit it with her lighter. The job was done.

She considered this a much earned treat. Coffee and a cigarette.

Her cheeks gracefully sunk into her mouth as she took a deep drag, smoke filling her lungs with the burned tobacco leaves. The tension gradually left her body as she blew it back out into the air and alternated between enjoying her cigarette and enjoying her lukewarm drink. The night had gone exceptionally smooth, much to her pleasure- but not to her surprise. Eloise was never known for running into trouble often, if not ever.

"It is done," she murmured with an even tone.

" _Merci, Renarde."_ She felt numb towards the gratitude. "We will be in contact again when we get a name from the Americans. Until then, lay low. _Au revoir_."

Eloise did not respond as the line went silent and she knew they had been disconnected. She was alone once more in East Berlin and that thought alone made her feel quite miserable, staring intensely at the remaining coffee left in the cup as her cigarette burned away. Lifting it back up to her lips, she inhaled and trapped the smoke in her lungs longer that time around.

Her drink nearly spilt across the table as she finally noticed the sudden presence of another person seated right across from her- someone who was never invited to her table. The woman bore a very peculiar expression as they regarded Eloise and the French spy gradually blew out the smoke that had been sitting in her chest far longer than she originally intended, too off guard to have remembered to let it go. Eloise simply perked a neatly trimmed eyebrow when giving the stranger, who remained oddly silent the entire time, a thorough once over. Eloise refused to show her alarment.

"Can I help you?" The question came out unbothered, but also rather cold.

The woman smirked and Eloise found herself itching towards the gun stuck in her boot.

" _Nein,"_ the stranger waved off indifferently. "I did not mean to disturb you."

Eloise hummed at that and the two women fell into silence as they simply continued to stare at one another. It was not awkward per say, but it was certainly growing tenser and she gripped the handle of her pistol as she kept her head upright towards the odd company.

Narrowing her eyes, Eloise asked, "Do you wish to play games with me, _Fraulein_?"

Before they could even answer, the waitress from earlier popped back in next to them- presumably to check on her new... _companion_.

"Would you like to order something else?"

" _Nein._ We are fine, _danke,_ " Eloise quickly answered on her behalf, hoping her smile did not come off as forced.

As the worker walked away once more, the spy leaned in closer and ensured no one around them happened to be eavesdropping. The other woman seemed to mimic this action and slightly leaned forward in her seat, as well.

The German beat her to it and spoke first in a hushed voice. "It seems you and I were sent on very similar assignments, _eine Freundin_."

Eloise paused, a tad surprised by the blunt admission and the soft smile on her face when explaining the situation. It was not uncommon for people in this line of work to cross paths, but it was certainly a first for Eloise Vasiliev.

"And that is?" She wanted to test the waters. To see if this stranger was truthful in their words.

"Greta Keller," they finally introduced. "I work for the _Bundesnachrichtendienst._ I am sure you have heard of us, _ja_?"

" _Enchanté,_ Greta Keller." Eloise smoked the rest of her cigarette in no hurry, leaning back in her seat in a casual manner.

Keller made a sound of acknowledgement. "Ah, so the French have found business in Berlin?"

"I would prefer it if we did not speak so freely in public," she explained. " _Oui et non._ I am only here to make a... _scrapbook_ , if you will."

The young woman checked back to the streets of East Berlin and Kraus was nowhere to be found, which meant they had departed some time when they were busy talking. Their business transaction- whatever that entailed- was completed. _At least I got the photo._ Looking back at Greta, she realized she was staring at the same corner where Kraus once stood, too.

"If you are here for why I may think you are here," the BND spy started, pausing to take a sip of her water. "You probably know that Kraus has been active again. This is his fifth time this month meeting with someone. It is concerning."

Despite Eloise's silence, Greta continued. "I did not quite catch your name."

There was hesitance that Keller probably noticed, as subtle as it was, before she answered with, "Eloise Vasiliev."

"Russian surname?" The lack of response, again, was an answer in it of itself. "Interesting."

Her lip twitched out of amusement, but settled back into place just as fast. "Is it?"

"I was sent to see what Franz Kraus is doing. He's been on our radar for quite some time now after months of silence." Keller lit a cigarette for herself. "He is up to something, we are certain of it."

Eloise wanted to remind her once more that she was never one to discuss sensitive information in public like this, but after noticing that the cafe was nearly empty, she decided against it. It was safe enough.

" _Oui_ ," she confirmed. "They do not tell me much, I'm afraid. I just take the photos _avec mon camera_ and my superiors tell me where to go. _Pourtant_ , they did mention that Kraus must be up to no good- they wanted proof. It was the Americans that asked us to investigate."

Greta laughed with a slight shake of her head. "It seems that the Americans have asked all of Europe to investigate."

"Yes, it does seem that way indeed, _mon amie_." Eloise lit a second cigarette, Greta's eyes following the pack as she stuffed it back into her coat. This did not go past Eloise. "Do you like my camera?"

" _Ja,_ it is smart I'll give you that. Though, I guess it depends- did you get a clear enough picture?"

She felt overprotective over the photograph _she_ managed to take and she couldn't help, but interpret that as ' _may I have a copy of the picture.'_ Eloise shifted in her chair uncomfortably and continued to blow rings of smoke.

"Perhaps," she answered after some thought, leaning forward to tap the ashes into a tray before it fell onto her lap. "What do you think it is that has gotten our friend Kraus so jumpy?"

Greta stared off into the distant night in a daze of sorts. "I am not so sure. Though there are rumors."

Eloise scrunched her eyebrows, perplexed by the vague admittance of 'rumors'.

"Rumors? What rumors?"

A mischievous gleam briefly flashed across the German woman's face.

"Send me a copy of that picture and I will tell you what I have heard." _Ah, of course._

Eloise laughed lowly. "And why would I do that?"

And suddenly, Greta Keller scooted her chair even further into the table while wearing a serious expression. The air grew tense once more as the two regard one another and at that time the lighthearted tone of the situation departed the cafe.

"The intel for that picture," she instructed bluntly. "This is not a matter of competition. All of Europe depends on our organizations to work together- to stop whoever it is that wishes to destroy our homes."

It was then that Eloise remembered a poem. One she had pushed into the back of her head a few days prior. Home. _Glavnaya._

_Tyrants can never reach this glavnaya_   
_She beats behind my ribs._   
_They would have to tear her out of me._

"Does that mean you and I have a deal?" Greta's question tore her away from her own thoughts and she regained her focus. "The picture for the intel. We could help one another."

Slightly apprehensive, Eloise still managed to murmur, " _Oui."_

 _"Trefflich_ ," she exclaimed with a sense of relief. "If I could send the photo to headquarters, surely they will start to take Kraus more seriously."

"We had a deal, _mon amie_ ," Eloise reminded. "Intel."

"Do you not trust me?" Greta asked rhetorically. It was fairly obvious they did not trust one another at all- at least not yet. This was unofficial business. "There is talk that someone very dangerous is active again. I am not so sure of what truth is behind this."

" _Comment s'appelle-t-il?_ Is there a name?"

"Anton Volkov. Russian mafia. Have you heard of him?"

Eloise was fairly new to all of this compared to most in the field so no, she was not aware of who this _Volkov_ was. However, as selfish as it may have been, her curiosity only heightened at the mere mention of his background- Russian. Thoughts raced in her head about how close she potentially could be to her papa's motherland. How close she could be to finding her uncle, both physically and metaphorically. Truthfully, Eloise did not really care to find out who this person was nor why they were believed to have been in hiding all this time.

All that she seemed to really fixate on was the word _glavnaya._ Home.

France felt most familiar to her, however, it no longer felt like home. On the other hand, she has never stepped foot in Russia, therefor making it nearly impossible to claim it as her home either. She could not pick between the two simply because between the two of them, they both meant absolutely nothing to her. Family clearly meant more and it meant everything.

"And what do you believe to be true about this _Volkov_?" Eloise paused, surveying their surroundings only to find that everyone was still minding to their own businesses. "Do you think he is the cause of all this noise?"

Greta thought for a moment. "I don't know what to think. I would not put it past him. If the cartels are active in East Berlin, who knows what could happen."

"Hm," she hummed. " _Intéressant._ "

The two spies turned towards that shadowed area where Franz Kraus had stood moments before and they seemed to silently communicate with one another. Whatever reason Anton Volkov had chosen to become more active in Soviet occupied Berlin was still unbeknownst to them- _that_ was the most difficult part about all of this. There was only an inkling of suspicion. Nothing more and nothing less than a conspiracy theory- something that stopped them from simply going out there and apprehending Kraus at gunpoint on the spot. They basically had nothing, which was why Eloise's job was considerably vital. _Collect the dirt and we will clean it up._

In a way, _oui,_ it was a dirty job. A very dirty life threatening job that, on some occasion, Eloise found herself questioning why she even chose that path. Why work for the French government? Why run towards the very thing that her papa had run _away_ from? _Pourquoi_?

And then she remembered her uncle. Sure, she had not met him, but reading his writing made her feel as though she did know him to some degree. She knew him enough to want to save him so that they may live the life of a happy family. It was a foolish and quite childish dream, but it was something she wanted. Something her papa and mama would have probably wanted for her. A small part of her was also curious to know what else her papa has concealed away from her- the family secrets he never even came close to spilling.

"Do you think the Soviet government is involved with any of this?" Eloise inquired abruptly. Greta seemed thrown off guard by the question at first, but thought about it eventually.

"I am afraid you are asking the wrong person," she answered truthfully and Eloise nodded, gradually processing the haziness of the whole situation.

After a few more quiet minutes pass by, Eloise took a glance at her watch and abruptly stood up. She was sure to leave some money at her table to pay for the coffee and Greta's eyes followed every movement. "I will send you _les photos_ soon, Greta Keller. _Au revoir, mon amie. Enchanté."_

" _Danke_." The woman did not question the early department, as she might have assumed Eloise had another assignment to attend to. "We will meet again, my friend. _Gute_ _Nacht_."

She soundlessly walked towards the entrance, but not before hearing Greta's parting statement. It was enough to cause her to stop in her tracks for even the slightest of seconds.

"That camera of yours is a weapon. I hope you know that, Vasiliev."

The French woman nodded stiffly, not too sure what would be an appropriate response to such a strange remark. In a way, Greta Keller was somewhat correct in the value placed on her work, but to call it a weapon was entirely abstract. She couldn't help, but think that her words sounded much like something her uncle would've written. _Your camera is a weapon_.

It seemed that Eloise finally fully grasped just how much power she held. She looked over her shoulder towards Greta with an appreciative look.

"The phone booth three stores down. The copies will be there tomorrow."

And before Greta Keller could even open her mouth to inquire what time she should pick up the photographs, Eloise had stepped out into the cold, dark night.


	4. paradox

_January 1981_

The faint glow of the red light hanging in the middle of the room strained her eyes terribly. She had been in that dark room developing photos for hours, soaking and hanging them up to dry one by one. It'd almost been a month since Eloise last saw Greta Keller in that cafe and almost a month since the _Bundesnachrichtendienst_ have first been supplied copies of her photos. Of course, the French DST got their hands on her work before the West German agency did. However, it truly did not matter who _started_ their missions first- it was who would be the first to _end_ them that counted the most.

It was safe to assume that the French and German intelligence agencies began to work closer together after two of their spies met seemingly coincidentally. Every now and then, Eloise would be in contact with another BND agent to send off some copies of whatever she had managed to capture.

Kraus had crawled out of his apartment double the amount of times since then, constantly crossing over the Iron Curtain to make those suspicious exchanges of his. How the Stasi never actually noticed the strange behavior from a discharged officer was entirely beyond Eloise and Greta.

The Americans- _the CIA more like_ \- were also very much involved with what was going on in Europe from what she's overheard back at headquarters. She was promised a name for a little _rendezvous_ after her earlier mission in East Berlin, but never heard back from her superiors about who she should be handing off the intel to.

Normally, that meant everything was becoming much more sensitive- much more _dangerous_. It was also safe to assume that there was very drastic information that'd been revealed and it could explain why all the agencies seemed to have suddenly become even more desperate with their investigation. Even the tactics were encouraged to be a bit more aggressive than beforehand. That was something that did not sit entirely with her. She preferred the safety of sneaking around more than she did the loudness.

Eloise felt exhausted. Drained. Her assignments had doubled thanks to Kraus and being smuggled in and out of East Berlin was already a tiring thing to do just once. However, when piecing that there was heavy Soviet involvement in... _whatever_ this was- she wanted in. All the way in. There were talks of a ' _Perseus_ ' who had come out from being MIA. She was not familiar with the man, but by the office gossip alone, she could tell he was not someone to underestimate by any means.

With double the assignments, that meant double the pictures. And double the pictures meant doubling the time spent in the dark room.

Her temporary apartment was the dark room.

She would not have signed up for this type of work if she had an issue with an uncomfortable living space- there were worse safe houses out there. Although, there was still an issue that she had with her hideout. _Nothing_ was hidden. All of her work was practically in plain view, meaning that if the Stasi were to ever take a keen interest with her presence in East Berlin and entered her apartment for inspection, she would have to face a lot of trouble from both the Germans and her higher ups.

Eloise pinned up the last of the photos with a drawn out sigh, arms aching from constantly having to reach up towards the hanging thread. Blowing a strand of hair that had loosened from her ponytail, she tiredly made her way towards the bed in the middle of the room. The room was still bathed in a red light and she wished that she could just turn it off and rest her weary head.

She immediately went to pick up the scrapbook laid on top of her nightstand and sat down on the mattress, flipping through the evidence she had collected over the course of a few years. It was filled with photos, not all of them necessarily related to the mission. She turned to the very back pocket where she kept all of her uncle's poetry and slid them out of their confines.

There, she had found one of her favorite works by him. _Svoboda._ Freedom. He always wrote about his experiences as a prisoner, how he missed his family, and he even wrote about her every now and then. The main reason why the poem stood out to her the most among the rest was the confusing line towards the end.

_I have never felt more free_

It made her head spin the more she read into it. What did he mean? _Qu'est-ce que cela_? It almost implied that he managed to escape- that he was free, of course. On the other hand, was physical freedom and metaphorical freedom two completely different entities to her uncle? How did being imprisoned and being practically tortured every day make him feel like a free man? It was incredibly peculiar. What a paradoxical line to write when trapped in a gulag.

It was then that the phone began to ring, filling the gaps of silence inside her room. She was not expecting anyone to call her that evening.

" _Allô_?"

" _Bonjour, Eloise,_ " the man greeted. He did not address the obvious confusion in her tone. " _Je m'appelle Henri._ I have a job for you."

" _D'accord_ ," she answered slowly. It was the first time she had worked with this 'Henri'. " _Qu'est-ce que c'est_?"

"Same delivery warehouse. Two hours."

And abruptly, the line clicked. He hung up the phone before she could even utter the first syllable of her question.

With her mouth slightly hung open by the queer behavior from the head of the operation, Eloise slid the phone away from her ear and hesitantly placed it back on the table. Never did she experience receiving little to no background information on a job and it be so last minute at the same time.

" _C'est très étrange..."_ she whispered to herself. " _Très étrange_."

When an hour had passed, Eloise managed to pack most of her essential belongings. She did not exactly know what photos to bring, but regardless, it was wiser to pack light when walking the streets of East Berlin. It normally did not rouse the same suspicion as carrying around visibly hefty bags. Therefor, the most plausible thing to do was stuff several folded documents and photos in her bra and hope that they do not somehow manage to slip out. She placed one of her cameras in that infamous cigarette box of hers. A gun in one boot and another camera in the other. The dozens of poems written by her beloved uncle in the waist line of her pants. Even her toiletry items were hidden in random areas- the Stasi would know she was intending on traveling somewhere if she just carried everything in her bag.

Right after closing the door shut behind her, it was then that Eloise felt a very foreign feeling of anger and frustration bubble in her. She was a human being before she was an agent. Anyone would feel slightly afraid and confused by the sheer abruptness of being put on assignment so out of the blue. It made her want to call this _Henri_ back and demand answers- to see why on earth he would speak to her as though she was a machine, but knew professionalism will be her only key to gaining more trust.

Trust could get you information in between your fingertips just like that.

It was no longer raining outside, however the roads were still riddled with shallow puddles and she still lugged around an umbrella just incase the rain decided to rear its ugly mug around the corner again.

Fortunately for her, the Stasi were out in light numbers that night. She was stopped several times, but none of the officers had to resort to actually patting her down. Eloise was good at playing innocent- exceptionally _talentueuse_ at playing docile and above suspicion. In a strange way, she was exactly that. Not in a sense that she was not capable of resorting to lethality or that she was easily manipulated, but in the way that she was not below hurting people who did not intend to hurt her. The bare minimum of decency, she found, equated to innocence to some people in this line of work.

She had worked with reckless and quite aggressively natured colleagues in the past and it was not at all a pleasant experience. While she hated the feeling of loneliness that had plagued her in Germany, she certainly enjoyed not having to deal with those types of _personnes_.

The nearest warehouse served as a delivery service for the meat industry in East Berlin and it seemed to have been closed as she approached the eerily abandoned building. No one was seen waiting for her outside of the establishment and it gave her the shivers, and that was not just because of the chilly weather. _Was this a setup_? The thought alone was enough for her to snatch her gun from her boot, defensively aiming it out in front of her and she scanned the perimeter for any hostiles with it. Her eyes darted everywhere in the dimly lit area, waiting for anyone to make their presence known.

It was then that Eloise slowly holstered her weapon back in its original place, because she could pick up on the faint thrumming of an engine coming from _inside_ the garage. Hesitantly, the young woman inched forward as quietly as possibly and peered over only to be blinded by the beaming of a truck's headlights. She winced at the intrusion of the strong light, as her eyes were so adjusted to the darkness outside, and squinted to barely make out the silhouette of a man leaning against the front of the vehicle.

" _Bonjour, Eloise,_ " he greeted with a knowing tone. "Glad to see you made it past the Stasi."

It took her a while to respond to the man, because his voice sounded oddly familiar. In fact, it sounded much like the voice that belonged to the person who had rung her apartment earlier and it didn't take her much more thought to connect the two people together- they were the same people.

" _Vous êtes Henri_." She did not ask if he was Henri. She _knew_ it was Henri.

The French intelligence agent ignored her simple observation and went around to the back of the truck, Eloise hesitantly trailing after him. The sight of the meat truck meant that he intended on smuggling her outside of East Berlin, but why he could not have just told her that was highly questionable.

"Has something happened, Henri?" She inquired tentatively. That must have been the case, because she was only given defensiveness.

"You ask far too many questions, _Mademoiselle,"_ he laughs off. "You have a job. You do it. _Facile_." 

Eloise momentarily stuttered with her movements at that, jaw ticking at the rudeness that practically oozed from the man. It was enough she risked her neck for the agency every single day- she deserved to know at least a bit of background information. Nonetheless, she settled with remaining silent and turned the other cheek, but oh how she began to yearn to bite back for once.

Henri swiftly opened up the back of the truck, that familiar and nauseating stench of raw meat hitting her nose. No matter how many times she'd hop in the truck to go past the wall, she would never get used to that wretched smell. This seemed to have been of amusement to Henri, as proven by his immature action of opening his arms out in a grand gesture towards the boxes.

" _Bon voyage, Mademoiselle Vasiliev."_

She tried not to let her frustration show on her face as she stepped up into the back of the truck. As far as she she knew, she did not do anything to warrant such disrespect from this stranger and found his impolite behavior very irrational.

Going a bit farther into the vehicle, she found the empty box dedicated to being her hiding spot- it was just the perfect size for her body to fit in.

"Where are we going, Henri?" She made one last attempt to get answers.

"I am not obliged to give you that information, _mon amie_."

" _Je ne comprends pas_ ," she explained. " _Pourquoi_ _pas_? How long is this trip, Henri?"

" _Ne t'inquiète pas,_ " the man brushed off, as though she had no reason to be frantic. How could she not worry with how he was acting? She had half a mind to call the DST and ask them if this was official business or if Henri was merely working on his own accord.

"Henri-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he had shut the doors with a deafening slam and she sighed, rolling her head back at the unfavorable situation. It was pitch dark inside the vehicle and she had to maneuver herself inside the box by touch alone. Eloise hoped and prayed that this would not be a long journey as she hunched over to fully shut the cardboard. _Look over me, papa, s'il vous plaît._

Hopefully Henri was a smooth driver.

Halfway into the ride, Eloise could feel her limbs beginning to cramp up from how long her body had been in that uncomfortable position. At one point, she felt the truck come to a complete stop and the sound of the back doors opened up. The Stasi seemed to have been making a routine inspection, opening up boxes here and there to ensure it was actually meat. Eloise crossed her fingers when a pair of footsteps came very close to her position, but let out a sigh relief upon hearing their retreat. And just like that, the doors were closed once more.

Eloise did not know how many checkpoints to account for, because she was never informed where they were going. She had no time to review any maps or design an organized time schedule for breaks- did she even have any breaks for this trip? Her only safe option was to remain inside the stuffy delivery box.

Just to make sure, Eloise ran a hand over the inside of her bra to feel for the folded papers she had hid inside the padding before she left. _Voilà_. It was still secured inside her under garments and that seemed to have been the only good news out of all of this. 

The young woman could not help, but let out a drawled out yawn. While her travel arrangements were confining and caused a lot of soreness, her exhaustion was definitely stronger than her discomfort. She subconsciously went in and out of sleep and struggled to keep herself from nodding off, her head brushing against the top of the box.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, the flaps were pushed open and Henri was staring down at her crouched form with a hint of irritancy. " _Bon matin_."

Opposed to his choice of wording, Eloise poked her head out only to find it was still dark outside. when she half-expected to see daylight. That must've meant they did not travel as far as she assumed they would.

Wordlessly, she followed Henri as he hopped down onto the gravel and she instantly frowned when realizing they seemed to have arrived at the middle of no where. In the far distance, there was- what seemed to be- an abandoned warehouse that was much smaller than the one they had departed from. It was the only thing in their immediate surrounding.

The French man extended his arm out to hand her a heavy bag and she skeptically accepted the item. She wondered how he managed to conceal it from the Stasi, but she made no move to actually look at the contents of the duffle.

" _Je suis arrivé_ ," he spoke abruptly, Eloise turning to see he was not addressing her, but whoever was at the end of his radio. At least he was still speaking in French and not German or Russian meaning he was affiliated with the DST, after all.

" _Viens_ _avec moi._ "

He beckoned her to keep following him and they seemed to be approaching the warehouse she had observed earlier. However, Henri had suddenly stopped them halfway and turned around to face her with a serious look.

" _Tu vas y aller_." He pointed towards the warehouse and her eyes flicked over to the said building. "There you will meet with CIA. _Monsieur Hudson_ will be waiting for you inside."

Much to her frustration, Henri took that as his cue to retreat to the truck without her and she wondered if he was just dropping her off here. Was this supposed to be a one-way trip?

It dawned on her that she would be speaking with the CIA and her blood ran cold at the mere idea of sitting down with the American intelligence agency. She had never encountered them face to face before, so this would be a first for Eloise. In fact, this whole situation was a first for her. 

"Henri," she seemed to call out for the fifth time that night. " _C'est tout?_ Why am I meeting with the Americans?"

And what seemed to be the fifth time tonight, he only gave his silence as an answer. Eloise wanted to scream as he turned on the vehicle and began to back out of the field without so much of a goodbye. A long sigh left her body and after a few moments of trying to compose herself, she finally began to finish the rest of the distance from the building.

There was a steel roll up door littered with graffiti and she did not know what to do- open it or wait for someone to show up? Or was someone already inside? Tentatively, Eloise lifted a hand to knock at the barrier.

"Don't just stand out there. Roll it up!" A rather cold voice directed from the other side of the door. It sounded muffled. "You're late."

She furrowed her eyebrows at the observation. She was not aware of the time nor the time she was supposedly meant to arrive there. However, just by the tone of his words alone told her he wasn't one for patience and she swiftly began opening up the warehouse. Once it was fully open, a bald man wearing a leather jacket and dark shades with his arms crossed over his chest came into view.

He helped her roll the door back down with an annoyed huff when he realized she was struggling to reach the handle.

"Jason Hudson. CIA," the American introduced in a clipped manner. "You must be Eloise Vasiliev."

" _Oui_ , I am she." She hesitated to actually ask a question, because of Henri's reactions and hoped he would not brush her off as well. "Where are we?"

"I am not inclined to give that information to you. It is sensitive. All you need to know is that this will serve as a CIA safe-house in the weeks to come."

At least that was something to work off of. She took a minute to look around the vacant building and realized it seemed to have been in the works, like someone was in the process of moving in. That was an indicator that the Americans have not always been here- wherever here was.

Hudson seemed to have noticed her curiosity and drew her attention with, "I put in a request for an investigative photographer that was already assigned in East Berlin. I've been told you're the best of the best right now."

He seemed to be underwhelmed with something about her and it didn't quite sit well with the young French woman. What made him so disappointed with how she presented herself was very subtle, but it was still there regardless of how little. However, what exactly was the reason he was seemingly reserved was beyond her knowledge.

"What you've been told is correct," Eloise confirmed plainly. "I would not be here if I wasn't, _monsieur_."

That answer appeared to please him enough to get him to proceed with what he originally wanted her at the warehouse for.

Before he started, the American walked over to a table set up in the middle of the room and picked up a clipboard with only a couple of sheets of paper. Signing contracts was a normal part of the job, however, she had never seen such a short list of rules and wondered if that was just a U.S. agency niche.

"You want to read the whole thing? Be my guest," Hudson said as he handed it off to her. "To cut it short, anything you learn on this new mission of yours is strictly confidential. Failure to keep things classified, well... _you know the rest_."

Her eyes flickered up from the small print to the man, almost not believing what he was implying right in front of her. Eloise was suddenly subconscious of her uncle's poetry and the photos she was not supposed to keep for herself stuffed along the waistline of her pants. Her pause did not go unnoticed by Hudson and she could make out the narrowing of his eyes behind the tinted shades.

"Problem, Miss Vasiliev?"

" _Non_ ," she answered casually, scrawling her signature like nothing he said had phased her. "Not at all."

"Good." He looked over her shoulder to the bulletin board behind her. When she noticed where his gaze was directed, she could not help but look over there as well.

The only thing that seemed to be pinned to the board was a picture of a rather _beau_ man right in the middle.

"That right there is the reason for all this," he explained. He spoke it as though there was a pest he just could not seem to shake off. "We believe he goes by the name _Perseus._ Ever hear it?" 

Perseus...

She was quiet, sifting through all the names she's ever heard in passing back in East Berlin. There was the office gossip, but she doubted that's what he wanted to hear about. " _Non_. _Désolée._ "

"I'll take that as a no." Hudson filed away her contract. "The man is a ghost. One minute he's dead and the next he's back trying to start another war. I want as much intel as possible. Anybody that stands out, you forward it to the CIA from now until next week. We want a solid list of suspects to start off with."

Eloise was surprised by what was said in between the lines- the Americans had nothing. At least, nothing that this man seemed confident enough with and he wanted more. She had no idea what the Americans were up to- she wasn't even sure what her own country was up to anymore. Ever since that mole in the KGB offered information to the DST, it seemed France has gone _hush-hush_ not only with other intelligence agencies, but with their own agents too. Hudson seemed unaware of this little _secrète_ , however, she had her own loyalty tied to the _Direction de la surveillance du territoire._

The same way she could not feed intel to the DST, she could not feed the CIA their secrets, either.

" _Où on se retrouve?"_ Eloise inquired.

"I don't speak French."

He did not have to be so rude about it. "Where shall we meet?"

"Here," Hudson answered. She perked an eyebrow.

" _Ici_? Here?" This was puzzling. "But I do not know where here is."

"You're here now, aren't you?" He said it like she was a mere child, struggling to find what was apparently obvious. "The same way you came here is the same way you'll come here next week. As I've stated, you don't need to know the location of our safe house when you have one job to do. A week's worth of pictures and it's mission accomplished."

Eloise peered back over to the blank bulletin board and why he wanted those photographs taken was becoming clearer. _They really did have nothing on this Perseus._

" _D'accord_. I will have them all developed next week."

"That won't be necessary," he cut in. "You will turn in the camera and the rest will be taken care of."

Eloise refrained from scrunching her face in complete disdain at the request and the cigarette box in her pocket felt heavy. Hand in her camera? She would not even be able to build on her personal portfolio of evidence to find her uncle with that condition.

"My camera?" She echoed.

He turned around briefly to give her a judgmental once over. "It was in the contract."

In that moment, she wasn't sure who she detested more- Henri or Jason Hudson. The first man came off arrogant and rudely sarcastic. The latter, however, was brutally dismissive and stony. _C'est la galère..._

She must have been standing there for quite some time as Hudson quipped, "I am sure you are capable of seeing yourself to the door."

Eloise glared at the back of his hairless head, wondering what she had done to deserve such unpleasant company. She was dreading even exiting the warehouse to _rendezvous_ with Henri once more after the bitter encounter with the CIA agent as she no longer had the patience to deal with them all in one day.

Without another word, she collected her pride and walked briskly towards the said door, grateful she did not have to hassle over lifting the hefty steel door again. She hugged her trench coat tighter to her body- partly due to the cold winds, partly due to the items hidden on her person.

What she did not expect to see outside was another American man sporting a leather jacket and sunglasses. _Americans and wearing these glasses at night..._

There was something about the man that made her throat tighten in an unsettling way- enough for her to avoid making eye contact with him. He was intimidating. Unnerving, even. While Hudson mirrored some of those characteristic, this one was certainly different than the two men she had met in the way that he carried hisself. Funnily enough, the perfect way to describe it was just so... _American._  
  
Eloise tried her best to keep her eyes trained on the running truck a few meters away from the building, not looking towards him as he wordlessly passed by her. She knew he was staring by the way the cigarette smoke traveled so close to her face as he blew it out of his lungs.

"You dropped something," a voice observed from over her shoulder. It took her a few more steps for her to actually process that it was **her** he was addressing.

She should have known he would not be kind enough to pick it up off the floor for her, but then she remembered what could have slipped from her body and she mentally cursed herself at how she hadn't felt that. It could have been the photos she was okay with sharing...or it was the illicit ones she would be in trouble for even having so apart of her was grateful he hadn't.

Eloise could spot a corner of the paper tucked under the tip of his shoe from where she was standing and he merely watched her as she gradually made her way towards him, inhaling the smoke every now and then. The young woman still could not find it in her to fully look at him until she had embarrassingly stooped down at his feet to retrieve the piece of paper and the first thing she couldn't help but notice were the scars littered across one side of his face.   
  
Of course, when she looked up at him, she realized he was studying the paper with scrutiny behind his sunglasses. He hadn't picked the paper up on her behalf out of respect for her privacy, but to send a message. Dare she say, a warning.

She had dropped a poem that was written in Russian. _Oh non_...

Time seemed to have slowed down as she remained kneeled, slightly scared by the way he was emotionlessly studying the piece of writing. He could not read the tiny characters from where he was looking, but he could at least make out the symbols enough to identify the language.

Eloise realized he wasn't going to say anything, nor move away. He was waiting for her to leave. _Magnifique_.

She confidently slipped the poem from under his shoe and smoothly tucked it into her pocket like nothing happened. Playing innocent, again, was what she was best at.

She felt him studying her as she got up and continued walking towards her ride back to East Berlin. Eloise even dared to look back only to find him taking a drag from his cigarette in that same stance, but he eventually turned to open the door to enter the same way she had left.

That whole interaction was bizarre. Eerie. Something in the back of Eloise's head was screaming at her to just take a picture of the perimeter, but she knew she would have to turn her camera in sooner or later and the CIA would not be happy to find a photograph of their secret base.

_Hudson never mentioned what camera to turn in..._

On her way to the truck, she took out her box of cigarettes to pull out a smoke, but not before slyly snapping a picture of the building.

What the Americans did not know would not hurt them.


	5. mk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone has had a great day! Here's an update for ya (-:

_ February 23rd, 1981 _

Eloise Vasiliev never heard back from Jason Hudson.

In fact, she had never seen Henri again since their initial meeting either- something she thought she would never think much of. Once again, she was seemingly left in the dark about whatever it was that was going on and it did not fail to crawl underneath her skin.

The investigation she had elaborately put together over time had seemingly gone cold and the thought that all the hassle and long nights were for nothing was unbearable. _Mais, chacun voit midi à sa porte._ Perhaps she missed something? Looked in the wrong places. Or just maybe, she had not looked hard enough at what was already laid out in front of her. Whatever it was, it was managing to get in the way of her finding her poor _dyadya_.

She studied her reflection to make herself look more presentable and put out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray . Eloise went over to the kitchen table and stared at the scrapbook that was sat on top of it for a second before finally opening the book. Coincidentally, she saw the poem that had slipped from her undergarments that said night and she knew that was the one due to the shoe print left on it- most likely marked by the peculiar man from outside the warehouse. A sinking feeling rumbled in her gut at the thought of _that_ being why she was never picked up to deliver her camera and that was enough for her to momentarily feel restless with worry.

She did not need to be accused of being a mole.

When the phone rang out, Eloise nearly toppled over in the wooden chair and quickly composed herself to answer the long awaited call. _Enfin_!

"Hello?"

"Eloise, _ja_? _Wie geht's?"_

A wave of disappointment crashed over her one realizing who was at the other end of the call- it was not Henri nor Hudson as she had desperately hoped.

She hadn't seen Greta Keller in quite some time, and while she certainly she didn't mind the old colleague ringing her, there was a priority list of names that she wanted to be in contact with. She pushed her dismay to the side.

" _Ça va bien,_ Greta. How are you, my friend?" Eloise paced around the kitchen, still glowing in that irritating red light.

"Tired. Very tired," the woman answered and she perked a brow at the vague statement. In this line of work, 'how are you' was meant as a rhetorical question. "Kraus has left his apartment more times than we can count."

She tucked away that bit of information in the back of her head for future reference. Jason Hudson would want to hear about Franz Kraus. That was, if he ever chose to actually contact her. 

"I am not surprised. Still think this Volkov is involved?" Eloise was tempted to indulge her on the _Perseus_ man she learned about, but remembered that damned contract. _Zut._

" _Ja_ , I am certain of it."

She hummed in thought. "Only time will tell."

"I called for coffee."

The French woman paused. "Oh?"

"Let's meet at the same cafe we met. 2 hours."

Glancing down at her watch, she realized that would be at 18:00. Before she could give her an answer, Greta cut in with, "I need to speak with you about something of importance. Make sure you are not followed."

There was a sudden hint of urgency in her acquaintance's words and it slightly took her aback. "Yes, of course. I will see you soon, _mon amie. Au revoir_."

The line went dead and Eloise set the phone back down in its original place, wondering what was so important that Keller ask that they meet in person. It clearly wasn't the German or French agency that had arranged the meeting- it seemed the BND informant was acting on her own accord.

As per usual, Eloise wisely placed her uncle's work in the waist line of her pants and slid the Tessina cigarette box in her coat pocket. She wondered if she should bring any photographs with her, but eventually decided against it. This _rendezvous_ did not seem to be a business date. Instead, it seemed it was just the case of an agent attempting to look out for another.

Her walk to the cafe mirrored her initial journey to the quaint establishment back in December. Wet. Cold. Uneventful and quiet. Of course, the officers stopped her for questions and of course she twirled a strand of hair and of course made sure they caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. She hated every minute of standing about like a ditsy bachelorette in front of those men, but it had to be done.

That familiar scent of _café_ was very pleasant and always managed to soothe her senses- it was an aroma that provided a sense of security and nostalgia. Her appreciation for it had only intensified during her lengthy time in Berlin and it took everything in her not to close her eyes and take another deep inhale like an _idiote_.

She spotted the familiar mop of hair seated in the very back, the same table from last time and it all felt like _déjà vu_. Except, this time around it was Greta Keller who took a seat next to that window first and not Eloise. The heels of her boots echoed in the small coffee shop as it hit the wooden floor and she was sure the German woman could easily recognize the sound of her footsteps.

" _Guten Abend_ , _alles_ _klar_? Eloise asked casually, watching as Greta shifted around in her seat to grin at her out of acknowledgement. She would not be able to speak much French in public, especially when the café seemed to be in a rush hour. German was safer.

" _Ja, alles klar_ ," Greta answered. Eloise tentatively took a seat across from her and surveyed the area out of habit. "Glad you agreed to meet me here. I hope I did not frighten you."

"Not at all." _Only a little_. "I'm curious, though. I could've sworn we agreed to meet in the usual bar when discussing business."

Greta laughed dismissively. "Well, _ja_ , but this is a matter of unofficial business."

"Is that so?" How peculiar. Unofficial business was not a sufficient enough explanation and could mean a countless amount of things. It could mean trouble or it could just be an innocent accompanying of friends merely hoping to catch up with one another.

A young waitress hurried over to their table before Eloise could get her long awaited answers. She sent a tight lipped smile up at the worker.

" _Für mich nichts, danke_."

Greta seemed unconvinced by this and sent a questioning look. "Are you sure you don't want anything? You seem parched."

It seemed the BND agent was implying something in the insistance that she actually order something and Eloise sent an equally questioning look right back. The waitress stood there awkwardly, eyes darting between the two women who were engaged in their own silent conversation.

"Okay," she retracted. " _Einen Kaffee bitte_."

Greta relaxed back into her seat with a satisfied look. "I'll also have the same, _danke_."

Keller made sure the waitress was far away from earshot before setting her elbows on top of the table and leaning forward to speak again.

"I am working for the Americans now."

Eloise failed to keep her eyes from widening at the admission, frantically making sure no one had overheard them. " _Sh! Parle moins fort."_

Greta Keller sighed, clearly not concerned about how loud she had been telling her the sensitive piece of information.

"I got rid of anyone who followed me here." She flashed a gun that peaked from inside her coat before tucking it away and Eloise could've swore on the spot. "No one is listening."

"And are you supposed to be telling me that you work for the Americans?" She recalled back to the contract _she_ herself had to sign in the warehouse. Was Greta out of her mind?

"I've been working with the CIA far longer than you have, _meine Freundin._ " She knew. "The only reason why I am telling you this now is to warn you."

" _Excusez moi_?To warn me?"

" _Ja_ , to warn you Vasiliev." She could tell Greta was desperate to get her to understand the situation without giving away too much. "I heard them mention your name."

Eloise's blood ran cold, dread washing all over her body. _They mentioned me..._

Her gaze fell to the wooden table in front of her in a haze of numbness and her thoughts immediately went to the strange man with his shoe stamped onto her uncle's poem. Greta took note of the instant sign of guilt practically written on Eloise's face.

"Eloise? Did you do something?" Keller hurriedly speculated. "I don't know if it was good or bad, but you can never tell with the Americans."

"Where did you hear this?" She murmured, completely disregarding the initial question.

"A CIA safe house. I was there to speak with Hudson before he traveled back to the states. He had asked me about you, but it seemed unrelated. It was _seltsam._ They must know you and I have worked together in the past." Greta quietly explained. "Normally they would go to the DST for that information. Not us."

The French woman steadily processed the words and only felt a small amount of relief that Hudson did not view her as a hostile. Although he certainly had his reservations, as proven by the situation at hand, it was a preferable position than what she originally feared was the case. There was still a great deal of uncertainty in the air about what he really meant by his vague inquiry, but she wasn't going to act any different around him. In fact, she would pretend she didn't hear anything. _Innocence was what she was best at._

"I'm sure it was nothing," Eloise brushed off abruptly, Greta off guard by the sudden change of tone. " _Merci_ for trying to help me though, _mon amie_."

She was not convinced, regarding her with clear skepticism. "You did not seem so relaxed a few moments ago."

"What are you talking about? Are you feeling-" Eloise stopped dead in her tracks as she spotted a familiar face seated at the table behind the German woman.

There was Henri, looking straight at Eloise as he took a sip from his cup of coffee with that smug look on his face.

" _Putain,"_ Eloise hissed under breath and Greta's face curled up in confusion. She whipped around to catch what had gotten her so riled up, but the man had smoothly lifted a newspaper to play it all off.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Eloise held back a groan of frustration when she noticed Greta itching towards the weapon on her person and knew she had to leave before a whole mess unfolded.

" _Je suis désolée,"_ she apologized, getting up out of her chair just as the waitress had finally approached them with two steaming coffee cups. _Je déteste Henri._ "I have to leave."

"But you only just got here? _Wofür_?"

She attempted to rack through her brain for the most plausible justification she could give for walking out on her like this. It was then that she saw Henri put down the newspaper and leave payment for his drink at the table only to walk out the door with a lingering look. It mildly distracted her from speaking and her thoughts became a jumbled mess all at once.

"I have to leave." Was all she could say. She shoved her hand in her pocket, digging for any spare German marks to pay the Bill on behalf of Greta as a way of sincerely apologizing.

She did not stick around for further inquiries from the BND agent and rushed towards the exit of the building, hurrying out of the cafe to look for Henri. She wanted to avoid Greta following them out, because it was clear she did not believe for a second that nothing sketchy was going on. _Sacré bleu_ , the woman was a spy for crying out loud- of course Greta knew better than to think that she was being anything, but deceptive. Eloise almost felt guilty- _almost_.

When she spotted the back of Henri's head further down the street, she began her rushed pursuit of the insufferable man. Every now and then, she would slow her pace whenever passing a group of Stasi officers and offered that dashing smile of hers, but would alternate back to chasing her assumed superior immediately afterwards.

It was only when they passed a familiar block that it became clear he was intending on leading her towards the same delivery warehouse she had visited a countless number of times. She recalled Greta's warning and knew it was time she finally met with the Americans again after a restless month of waiting. No phone call. No letter. No _rendezvous_. They had wanted her without notification.

"Henri!" She called out as he strolled into the garage, whistling away as though a woman wasn't desperately calling after him. "Henri!"

She attempted to catch her breath as she ran inside, watching as he reached over to open up the truck's back doors.

As he walked passed her to head towards the driver's seat, he simply replied with, "You know how this goes, _Mademoiselle_."

" _Non,_ Idon't think I do," she shot back, slightly panting. "Where have you been?"

"Not all of us have time to lounge in cafés looking _très jolie_ with our friends." Her jaw hung open at the implications that were far from accurate. " _Les Américains_ are waiting for your arrival. You know how impatient they can be."

"Henri," she repeated. "I had an important meeting, you can't just intervene-"

" _Non, non, non,_ " he butted in. " _Je suis désolé_ , it sounds like you have forgotten your place."

"My place?" She spluttered, horrified by his choice of wording.

"You work for _us_ , _Mademoiselle_. The CIA does not work for you. The DST does not work for you. You work for us. _C'est simple comme bonjour,"_ he chuckled, as though nothing in his statement was dehumanizing in nature. "Now, unless you have rethought your choice of work, _viens avec moi."_

Henri opened the driver's door and turned the keys in the ignition, the truck roaring to life. She was glad he didn't care to wait to see the expression on her face as he finished his speech, because she couldn't help but allow the silent tears to slowly roll down her flushed face. She felt _embarrassed. Exaspérée_.

The loud horn that blew from the vehicle startled her and she immediately began to move, like she was nothing but a working cog in this great big machine. It was like clockwork. She shut the back doors, shielded with the darkness that followed. Felt around for the empty box. Folded herself into it and covered the top. _C'est simple comme bonjour..._

Her head felt empty and all she could do was let out a few quiet sniffles and curl up as she gently wiped away her own warm tears. If she had worn mascara that evening, surely it would've been fairly obvious she had cried and she felt like _une fille_. A small child rather than a young woman.

The farther they got into the journey, the sourer her mood had grown as she had plenty of time to mull over the situation at hand and Henri's harsh reality check. Of course, she knew this was not an emotional business nor a compassionate business. Her comfort was not a priority nor was it even a concern to these people. She understood what her uncle meant when he had described the feeling of betrayal.

From then on, the poetry began to consume her whole. It became more than an investigation to find her uncle- it became a way of relating to him.

Eloise swore to it she'd never let herself be unguarded as she had portrayed today in front of Greta and Henri and everyone else. _Prendre la tête._

Unlike the previous time, she hadn't fallen asleep much to Henri's pleasure. Although, she was sure a part of him wish he had so he could have another reason to torment her, but she would never give him the satisfaction. In fact, his sarcastic quip of _Bienvenue_ did not garner any reaction from her and she remained silent as she hopped down onto the familiar gravel.

Eloise did not wait for his order to go inside the warehouse and simply began her walk without another word. She pulled her camera- the one she intended on handing over- out of her boot and could hear the truck backing out of the area. _Au revoir_.

With more confidence this time around, she delivered three loud knocks to the steel door before lifting it up. She nearly slipped up in her emotionless demeanor as she was expecting Jason Hudson to be on the other side of the barrier- not a woman.

"You must be Eloise," the stranger observed in a clearly non-American accent. _Une femme britannique. MI6..._

"You are not CIA," she murmured.

"Correct." The British woman tilted her head, observing the DST agent in front of her quietly. Eloise even felt quite intimidated by this one too and came to the conclusion she did not like this safe house. "Often times, other agencies tend to collaborate with one another when finding a common... _interest_. I'm sure you are very familiar with this Eloise Vasiliev."

Her eye nearly twitched at the mere mention of her surname. It was another indirect warning. She seemed to be receiving quite a lot of those as of lately, much to her annoyance.

"Quite."

"Yes," she continued. "Helen Park. MI6, though, it must be rather obvious with the given accent. I look forward to developing your photographs."

Momentarily, Eloise realized there were more people inside the safe house than she originally thought once she heard someone sliding the door down behind her. She whipped around to find a rather burly looking man studying her as he eventually strolled away to converse with another one seated at a desk.

"Looks like we got another one, Lazar," the American in the chair exclaimed, not too concerned with whether or not she had heard him.

Despite the woman's presence in front of her, Eloise's journalistic habits got the best of her and she began surveying the place. Helen allowed her to do so, watching her just as intently.

It was fuller since the last time she'd stopped by here, but it was clear they were still somewhat in the process of settling in. They hadn't been there for long.

Her eyes fell on a man whose back was turned away from everyone else and he stood out like a sore thumb. He seemed to have been staring long and hard at the bulletin board in front of him and she furrowed her eyebrows at his queer behavior.

That was the fine line that Helen chose to place, recapturing Eloise's attention away from the individual. "It will only take a moment, please. You're more than welcome to wait inside the office."

While it came out as a polite offer, she knew it really was intended to be a strict order. Wordlessly, Eloise showed herself to the said room, but not before sneaking another glance at the person zoned out in the middle of the room as she walked past him. If he knew she was there, he certainly did not show it. _Il est bizarre..._

Closing the door behind her, she took an iffy look around the nearly empty office. Eloise was unsure if it was a European thing to have a desk in the middle of the room rather than the corner, much like this one was setup, but didn't think more of it as she sighed. She didn't enjoy the idea of handing over a camera. Sure she had plenty, _mais,_ they were her pride and joys. A piece of her.

_J'adore mon appareil photo_. _I could have developed all of these myself._

She was grateful that she actually kept real cigarettes in her nifty little box that hid her personal camera, because all of this stress made her crave one terribly. Without hesitation, Eloise plucked _une cigarette_ from the container and nearly groaned when failing to find her lighter. She could've sworn she had it in the same pocket...

" _Merde_ ," she cursed out loud when unintentionally dropping her cigarette as she attempted to check her other pant pocket, watching it roll away from her on the floor.

She rolled her eyes at her clumsiness during the worst possible time and knelt towards the cigarette that had stopped perfectly under a wooden table placed against the wall. She had made sure not to hit her head against the bottom of the surface and crawled on her knees to snatch the damn thing.

Popping the butt of it in between her lips in order to brace her hands on the floor to get back up, she was met with the sight of a black duffle bag slightly zipped open. She brushed the dust off her hands as she tilted her head out of curiosity, momentarily forgetting about the lighter and the smoke.

Eloise hadn't planned to snoop about the office and knew doing so was probably violating many rules and codes. This was the CIA- people who were supposed to be their allies. However, the peculiar sight of a syringe caught her eye and she was completely taken aback by the presence of the medical instrument. With this bit of information in mind, she took another glance around the dingy office and had gained a new lens to look through, because she noticed things she hadn't upon first entering. There were IV bags covered in a barrier of plastic. An EKG monitor in the far corner. It _almost_ looked like a hospital's old storage room.

Very unusual.

Eloise made sure to look out the office window and found that Helen was busy speaking with the mysterious person standing at the board and the two other men were carrying around hefty boxes to presumably move outside.

She slyly picked up an item in the duffle bag, eyes still trained on the individuals outside, and then attempted to get an idea as to what this group of people were exactly up to. Eloise did not want to risk being seen so she knelt down on to the floor once more, no longer in anyone's immediate line of vision.

The syringe was empty, but she could tell it had been used as the rather large needle was exposed, poking out all the way through. She maneuvered it around in her hand and squinted upon finding a label on the other side, hoping to maybe find an address. Much to her utter disappointment, there was only one thing scrawled messily with a black marker onto the sticker and it looked to be some sort of initial.

**_MK_ **

" _Em_... _Kay_ ," she had read to herself in a hushed voice. "Huh."

A dangerous suggestion crossed her mind and she wanted to silence the tempting notion of actually taking a picture of the syringe. It was not at all related to her investigation for her missing _dyadya_ , but it was quite a bizarre find and would probably make a neat addition to her photography.

_Ne t'inquiète pas, Eloise. Just take the photo._

The unlit smoke still tucked away in her mouth, the young French woman pulled the cigarette box out once again, but this time for her camera. In one hand, she angled the camera in just the right position and the controversial action was set in stone as she captured the image with a deafening click. _Parfait_.

Getting up off the floor, Eloise put the needle back _exactly_ where it was- she was remarkable at cleaning up a scene to look seemingly untouched- and returned her belongings in the safety of her coat.

"Need a light?"

The gasp she let out was embarrassingly high pitched and she could practically feel the heat creep towards her face out of utter shame. Eloise instantly whipped around towards the sudden voice and was stunned to see the scarred American man who she had desperately prayed and hoped she would never see again. Out of all people who could have entered the room, _he_ was the one who had caught her red handed.

The cigarette nearly slipped out from her mouth, trembling hands raising to readjust it on her bottom lip. She was unsure of what to say and knew it was very likely that this man had watched her take a picture of something she wasn't supposed to. However, she wondered if he actually knew _which_ camera she used and figured there would only be one way to find that out.

" _Non, merci_ ," Eloise replied stiffly after her brief state of shock.

The air was thick as he closed the office door, casually walking over to shut the window blinds, but never taking his eyes off her. She didn't like the way he looked at her.

After presumably sizing her up, the stranger dug out his own cigarette and smoked it like he hadn't just seen her doing anything wrong.

"You ever hear the saying _keep your hands to yourself_?" He blew out a large cloud of smoke and she watched as it flew up towards the ceiling.

"I changed my mind. I actually would like that light, _si'l vous plait_." Eloise desperately wanted to change the subject. For emphasis, she lifted the cigarette up towards him with her teeth and avoided his eyes as he leaned forward to light the flame.

If she thought he would let her go, she clearly thought wrong as he swiftly reached past her to grab the phone on the table, quickly dialing a number.

_He is going to report me. Bon travail, Eloise._

He wore a very serious look on his face behind his sunglasses and she refrained from shifting on her feet, knowing playing innocent was all she had left. It was clear he saw right through her unlike most people she encountered- something that almost frightened her.

"Hudson," he greeted once the line connected, staring right through her. "I want your little French spy on the team."

Eloise paused.

"It wasn't a request," he responded, presumably to the man's objection. "What I say goes and I say this one is taking orders from me from now on."

" _Excusez moi_ -"

"Well the more the fucking merrier." He continued to speak on the phone and ignored the frantic woman.

" _Monsieur_."

She hadn't expected him to hang up the phone only to aggressively slam a palm onto the same table and she flinched at the action. He lifted a leather gloved hand up between them and his jaw ticked. He was not at all happy.

"The camera," he seethed. " _Now_."

There was a moment of hesitation on Eloise's part as she became conflicted with which camera she was supposed to handover. Had he seen which model it was from over her shoulder? His patience was visibly thinning and she knew turning it in was something that was supposed to happen either way.

She gave him the other camera and he accepted it. He hadn't known the difference and she felt as though she had regained the upper hand in the situation.

Before he could probably chastise her further, the woman from earlier entered into the office with,

"Adler, have you retrieved the film? I sincerely apologize for the wait, I was rather preoccupied."

_Adler_.

Park must have sensed that she interrupted a tense moment and gave the man a questioning look as he preoccupied himself with turning the camera over in his hands. He must really want to know what she managed to take a picture of.

The British woman sent a tight lipped smile towards Eloise as a way of saying _excuse us_ and turned to address Adler.

"Bell got us a name."

Whatever that had meant, it seemed to have somewhat lighten the man's mood and he pocketed the camera to turn his focus on waiting expectedly for his colleague to continue.

"Well then give me the name."

Helen Park sent another wavering glance towards the other presence in the room, not comfortable with sharing that confidential piece of information in front of someone that wasn't apart of their team. Eloise hadn't taken that personally- in fact, she wished she was _not_ supposedly working with them. Adler looked amused as he watched the young woman struggle to keep herself from squirming underneath both their gazes.

"You can let our new friend here in on our little secret," he reassured bitterly, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Eloise will be joining us in East Berlin tomorrow."

Even Park was thrown off by that and she seemed utterly confused by the strange turn of events. She was clearly still skeptical, but eventually gave in.

"Anton Volkov."

Adler did not fail to notice the look of recognition on Eloise's face. "You know him?"

" _Non_ , I don't _know_ the man." _Tres bien_. Another excuse for him to be suspicious of her. " _Mais_ , I have heard his name. I was sent to East Berlin to spy on a an ex-Stasi officer by the name of Franz Kraus and heard it in passing."

It was not in passing, per say, but they didn't need to know the details. She wanted to keep Greta Keller away from all of this mess that she had managed to get herself into.

Helen Park seemed to know more about the situation at hand than anyone else in the room and nodded her head. "Yes, it seems that I also recall hearing both their names in the same sentence. _Merci_ , Eloise."

"Could it be possible they are connected?" Park speculated, asking no one in particular.

" _Je ne sais pas_. I don't know much about Volkov."   
  
"MI6, however, does," the woman responded. "I'll see what intel I can find from the archives. Until then, we need to find any way to slip past the checkpoints into East Berlin."

"Don't you worry about that," Adler spoke out. "I already have a plan."

Eloise wished the British woman hadn't left her alone in the office with _this Adler-_ she would avoid any situation where she would have to find herself alone with him again. Without his permission, she attempted to walk past the American in order to finally exit the warehouse. Her camera was turned in and that's all that mattered to her- the job for the night was done.

She should have expected the hand that shot out to curl around her arm in a tight, bruising grip- another warning it seemed. Eloise did not look up at the man as he menacingly leaned forward to quietly murmur,

" _That's strike two, Vasiliev. Don't let me catch you again_."   



	6. poem two

_Greed, solnyshko,_

_Is what tore the motherland apart_

_Her soul has been sold_

_And her flag bleeds red_

_These men's hands are stained red_

_It is a sickness that never dies._

_A plague with no cure._


	7. picture never changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year <3

_February 24th, 1981_  
  
That night was colder than usual and the young French woman wrapped her leather trench coat tighter around her frame as it began to sprinkle. Even with a turtle neck beneath her long jacket, the layering never seemed to help with retaining body heat. _A warm day in Berlin was a drag. A cold day in Berlin was rigid_.

Yesterday felt like a terrible dream- too many turn of events that left her utterly exasperated and she couldn't even find a way to relax herself. At one point, she began taking photos of the streets outside her window just for the mere enjoyment, but her thoughts always managed to creep back to the day prior. From Greta to Henri to Park to Adler.

Eloise was unaware as to what she had walked herself in to. Since working with the DST, she ensured that she would avoid the flashy, loud side to the field she chose to take up a career in. She was good at playing innocent. She was good at taking pictures. And she was good at leaving no witnesses.

What she wasn't good at was helping the CIA sneak their way into East Berlin in an attempt to neutralize a Russian mafia leader. The mission was like practically offering your head out to the guillotine and giving the Americans the rope with trust that they would not let the rope go.

Or in this case, giving the ropes to _Monsieur_ Adler.

" _Halt mal!_ " A Stasi officer called out from the other side of the road, Eloise stiffening at the aggressive approach he chose to take with her. She quickly took a glance at her watch, wondering if she would be able to reach the train station on time.

She blinked as she stood there watching him cross the street in order to get to her with a subtle frown on his face.

" _Ja_ , officer?"

"You are familiar," he observed. He was an older gentleman with a golden band on his finger so she knew she would not be able to charm her way out of the situation. " _Wie ist Ihr Name?"_

"Heidi," she smoothly lied in a softer voice. "Heidi Pflüger."

The officer raised his chin as he scrutinized her further, most likely attempting to match her face with a particular memory in his head. "Your papers, _Fraulein Heidi_."

Eloise dug through her small bag to find the documents with her fabricated identity, which she rarely ever had to present in front of any official during her time in East Berlin. It had meant that the Stasi were likely on edge about something and were expecting trouble that night. Whether or not that had anything to do with her new team's infiltration was not definitive, but it was enough to heighten her cautiousness and worry. Compliance was key if she wanted to get out of the tight spot sooner.

" _Was machen Sie_?"

"I'm a seamstress, sir."

She stood there awkwardly as she watched the man sift through the papers, eyes flicking up from the documents to her face- probably to make sure everything checked out. The stop had been the longest one she'd ever been in and the woman knew she was still not in the clear.

"You were running in the streets yesterday evening," he eventually recalled, still holding on to her identification. " _Warum_?"

 _Ah, oui. Pourquoi, Eloise?_ She mentally cursed Henri.

" _Verzeihung,"_ she apologized. "I was in dire need of using _die Toilette_ and needed to get home as soon as I could."

He was unmoved by her reasoning. "That is ridiculous, _fraulein._ There are open lavatories provided to you in any cafe."

" _Ja_ , but not every restroom has lady needs," she blurted out, feeling slightly embarrassed by the route she had instinctively chosen to take. "I don't know if you know this, sir, but we must bleed every-"

" _Verstummen!"_

Despite her own humiliation of the conversation, she would be lying if she had said she did not feel a bit of triumph as the Stasi officer seemed to have believed her alibi. He looked utterly disgusted, just as embarrassed, and she never thought she'd be grateful of men's tendencies to be discomforted by womanly anatomy.

He handed her papers back in a reserved manner, still eyeing her face to take a mental note. "Next time, do not run in the streets or you will be stopped and patted down. It is not normal behavior. _Tschüss."_

 _"Danke_ ," Eloise thanked. "I will be sure to pack essentials when I go out from now on. _Tschüss_."

She practically felt his lingering stare as she continued up the road, attempting her best to play off the whole encounter. Sure, she left the stop unscathed, but her cover was at imminent risk for being exposed- _quand?_ The 'when' she did not know. All the French woman knew was that it was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

_Fils de pute_ , she mentally cursed Adler. _Throw Henri and Hudson and the rest of them in there aussi_.

It seemed all of this had taken its toll on Eloise's fire. Fire to figure out the whereabouts of her elderly uncle. Fire to continue her investigation- both personal and work related. Fire to even work for her country. It felt in vain. None of this had anything to do with her _dyadya_ nor her investigative and photographic skills. She knew Adler did not put her on his team for her talent. He did not demand that she tag along, because he trusted her.

Adler, in fact, wanted Eloise to stick around solely because he _did not trust her_. He could keep an eye on her that way- more access to her. To figure out what she was really up to and she was sure it was the Russian poem that had captured his full attention. She would be an idiot to think otherwise and the safe house fiasco certainly did not help the predicament.

However, there was clearly a dilemma at hand.

For her to directly explain that the writing had not been an indication of a secret Russian collaboration meant exposing her quite illegal investigation. She would lose all of her resources. It also would further raise his suspicions.

He did not vocalize any concern so what justification could she have to also be concerned if she was truly innocent? Eloise would settle with waiting- _pour quoi faire_ ? The what for, she also did not know.

"Vasiliev," Park's voice spoke into the earpiece. They had managed to arrive in East Berlin. "Have you reached the coordinated location."

" _Évidemment._ I would be _attentif_ when exiting the train. It seems something has set off the Stasi tonight."

"That's not an issue," Adler immediately cut in to dismiss. "We're still rolling with plan."

She struggled to find where she had suggested otherwise, but kept her mouth shut. Eloise sighed as she glanced down at her feet, studying the maintenance hole cover with disdain and dread.

_Crasseux._

Ensuring that no one else was around in the alleyway, she crouched down and attempted to remove the steel lid with a quiet grunt. The plate was extremely heavy and she almost believed that she would not be able to uncover the manhole.

Eventually, with a few more powerful lifts, Eloise managed to push it aside on the concrete.

"Ouf," she huffed out of relief.

Peering down below, she immediately looked on towards the ladder that descended, allegedly, into the underground station. She could already hear the echoes of squeaking rats and shriveled, going in feet first as she grasped onto the handles of the ladder.

Before covering the manhole up once more, Eloise peaked her head up to make sure no one had snuck up on her.

She let go of her grip when she was in a safe enough distance to drop down onto the ground, brushing the ladder's built up grime off of her leather gloves.

Eloise had never traveled into East Berlin using this system and somewhat applauded the CIA team in their more conventional methods. It was much better than being cramped up in a delivery box, sometimes for days, surrounded by the stench of raw meat.

The young woman stealthily armed herself with a silenced pistol, falling into the role of a careful and professional agent. The latter would seem certainly out of character given her terrible habit of snooping.

The metro station was eerily quiet, aside from the occasional trains that zoomed past her as she delved further into the tunnels.

Eloise avoided taking out a few East German guards who happened to be scoping the area, sticking to the shadows and letting them go on their own accord. It worked out.

A few moments of walking and she could spot the MI6 agent hop up onto the platform with a familiar looking man following her lead. She immediately recognized him from the safe house yesterday and put aside her first impressions of him.

She would have to trust these two if she wanted to get out of this alive and bad impressions meant bad outcomes.

"Vasiliev," Park curtly greeted. Glad to know she also had her own reservations of her. Tenable. "This is Agent Azoulay."

He, too, was curt with her as he quickly nodded in her direction and quite obviously did not look too _joyeux_ with their new addition to the team.

" _Enchanté,_ Azoulay _."_ Eloise gestured towards her watch. " _La réunion_ has happened on time- _Très bien_. We must go, _tout de suite."_

She did not miss the exchange of looks from the two at her questionable willingness to get the job done and wanted to roll her eyes. "Franz Kraus rarely ever faces thorough stops from the Stasi. If we don't hurry to the exfil point, we risk missing _la réunion_."

Without another word, Eloise turned back around to head back up the same way she had come down and did not bother to see if they followed her lead. She did not want this to take all night. The faster she would be able to leave the sooner she would feel safer. However, the sound of their footsteps from over her shoulder was still somewhat reassuring.

She took a look around the abandoned station and yearned to snap a photo, but she was not in possession of her camera anymore- at least to _les Américains_. She was supposed to have turned that in. Surely Park would notice her personal camera in her nifty little cigarette box and Eloise dejectedly fought the urge to take some decent photos of the area. The tunnels were almost haunting in terms of scenery. Absent of life and riddled with melancholy.

"Would you mind going first, _s'il voit plaît_?" She gestured towards the ladder as she turned to address the brawny man. "I very much struggled with lifting the lid, _Monsieur_ Azoulay. You seem more capable than I am."

Another brief exchange of looks with Park and he sarcastically muttered, " _Monsieur?"_

Although he was seemingly not amused with the formalities, Azoulay did not show any resistance to the request and began climbing up the ladder.

There was an awkward moment between the two women, staring at one another as though silently asking _who is next_?

"Coast is clear," he informed them from the alley.

Park perked an eyebrow, as though to dare her, and Eloise remained unfazed by the situation at hand. She knew Park was more guarded than she let on when in comparison to the others and most likely was not fond of the idea of turning her back to a practical stranger.

" _Après Vous_."

Maybe that could have been the opportune moment for her to, at least, prove she was not actually an imminent threat to their team. Park was still obviously wary, but eventually followed Agent Azoulay up the ladder.

" _Police!"_ A man yelled out, gun drawn with the end of the barrel trained right on Park as she had only made it halfway up.

Helen was clearly more of an imminent threat to him than Eloise. He probably feared the first woman would manage to make it the rest of the way up into the streets, while the latter would not have enough time to make a run for it either way.

The MI6 agent had a - likely uncharacteristic- state of shock where she seemed to had been frozen in time. It was understandable as the situation was going fairly smooth up until that point and Stasi presence was not expected in a ghost station. Helen's hands were preoccupied with ensuring she did not fall off the ladder and Eloise took that as her cue to be the one to act- _and rapidement_.

Before Park could talk her way out of the situation through professional, manipulative tactics. Before Lazar could drop down to threaten the Stasi officer to throw him off in hopes of preventing a call of backup, Eloise had shot the man.

No questions. No excuses. No pleas. And no mercy.

A quick bullet was sent right in between his eyes and it almost seemed to have been executed like clockwork to Eloise.

The tentative French woman did not seem so fragile nor out of place in that rare instance of physical calculation. Their initial perceptions of the new addition to their team was ,very evidently, not in flattering taste. They believed her to be feeble- a weak link.

The choice she sealed with the gun very much clashed with those preconceived notions.

With little to no regard concerning however they might have reacted to the unanticipated firing of her weapon, Eloise walked towards the dead body that had begun to bleed out onto the platform, staining the ground underneath.

She knew Park was paused in the same position she had been in when stopped by the officer, Helen curious as to what her next move would be.

It was an equally surprising act of dragging the body to the edge of the platform and pushing the officer off onto the train tracks. The French spy threw a glance- void of any expression- over her shoulder.

"More could be coming. I would continue _maintenant_ , _mon amie- Allez._ "

And Park wordlessly did just that, letting the whole situation sink in to assess this 'new side' to Eloise Vasiliev. However, in retrospect, it actually was not new at all. Only new to them.

Eloise made sure there were no more officers in the surrounding area and only then did she follow suit.

Before she could fully lift herself up onto the pavement, a hand shot out into her line of vision and she looked up towards the culprit. Helen Park.

"I'm afraid we're on the clock." The British woman smirked. "Don't dwell on it."

Eloise accepted the help with a hint of a smirk of her own, grabbing onto the open hand.

" _Merci, mademoiselle."_

"Yeah, yeah," Agent Azoulay interjected grumblingly. "We haven't got all day."

Eloise found her footing and straightened out her coat, the three of them purposefully making their way to the exfil point. The plan was to wait for Anton Volkov to show up at his scheduled meeting with Franz Kraus at a bar in close proximity to the Berlin Wall. How _pratique_...Not only conventional, but coincidental, as well. It had been the very same bar she and Keller frequented often when making their official intel transactions.

It was then that she had become aware of the notable gap between all three of them- not two.

Azoulay and Park did not trust one another, either.

How could they when the CIA had only moved in to their safe house fairly recently, given by the sight of moving boxes still laid about. That was worrisome to Eloise and for good reason. It was safe to say that the mission felt rather hostile and the East Berlin officers were not the only ones to blame for the unprecedented tension.

She wondered if Adler had recruited them to keep a closer eye on them just as he had done with her.

" _Park, Lazar, we're almost in position_." Speak of _le diable_ and he shall appear.

She tried to ignore the fact he had intentionally left her name out.

" _Copy that_ ," The British woman radioed back. "Let's pick up the pace, shall we?"

In silent agreement they did, indeed, pick up their paces as they were getting closer and closer to the marked location on the map. Eloise could see that even without the use of the map as she had walked through that very place often and it was imperative that she committed it to memory,

"The alley seems to be this next one over," the man observed, peaking over to the paper in Park's hands as they began to walk side by side.

Eloise watched the casual interaction happen as she trailed behind, realizing her assumption that they were equally mistrustful of one another as they were with her was somewhat of a miscalculation. They still had their guards up in one another's company, but not to a higher degree much like it was in regards to Eloise.

Eventually, they slowed their movements at a particular alleyway a few blocks away from the infamous bar.

Park and Azoulay seemed to be preoccupied with discussing how they should proceed after they manage to apprehend Volkov and the next steps to take after extracting him out of East Berlin. Eloise took the time to scan the walkway and could not help, but feel like something was awry. She tuned out their conversation.

_Quelque chose ne va pas..._

Eloise geared her attention over their heads, tilting her chin up to find exactly what was giving her the urge to scratch her head in puzzlement. _The lamppost._

Once more, Eloise acted without hesitation. With a rock that was within grabbing distance, the French woman chucked the object up at the lightbulb with accuracy, the sound of shattering glass following the direct hit. The three of them were instantly concealed with the safety of the newfound darkness and were obscured from any potential passerby's view.

Azoulay and Park whipped around to see what it was that she had done exactly and the woman merely shrugged a shoulder dismissively.

" _De rein."_

With a scoff, Agent Azoulay refocused onto the street in front of them yet Park seemed a bit hesitant in the moments prior to imitating that action. It served as a very telling sign of the Brit's stubborn wariness concerning Eloise. If she wanted to have a little bit of room for continuing the search for her uncle, she would need to get these people to stop breathing down her neck.

" _Park, Kraus just crossed the Wall. What's your status_?" The American man inquired.

"Lazar and I are at the exfil point awaiting your arrival." Eloise, once more, found herself displeased by the absence of her name.

"Roger."

" _Et moi_ ," the young woman whispered to herself, so softly that it had reached her ears only.

Park turned her attention away from the streets for a brief moment to address Eloise who stood farther back into the alley. "Once Volkov is nicked from the bar, you are to notify Henri to pull the truck around in front of this very location."

No one noticed her features curl up at the mere mention of the French getaway driver and she fought the urge to protest his presence. It did not matter what she wanted and her discomfort certainly did not matter, either. This was a business and businesses did not care for how you felt. Henri was going to be there whether she wanted him to be or not and so she sucked up her displeasure and tried to clear her head of any complaints.

"Team, new plan. Meet outside Kraus's apartment. He's still our ticket to Volkov."

The way Adler had made the very unexpected announcement sounded like he was out of breath and Eloise could catch the tinge of defeat- _irrité_. Azoulay and Park were also confused by the last minute change of plans, but did not question the nature of them and immediately began to put a Plan B into action.

"We must find a good location- and quickly," Park explained, mostly to the man next to her than to Eloise.

He nodded his head affirmatively. "I agree. We should take a look at the map."

"Yes, it certainly seems that way." The MI6 agent unfolded the map she had pocketed, tracing along various paths to take with a finger. Eloise watched dumbfounded by the both of them attempting to find a new ideal hideout.

While they were distracted with finding something, Eloise pressed down on the mic to radio Adler with, "We will be in _les magasin d'électronique_ across from Franz Kraus's apartment."

If Adler had heard her loud and clear he did not verbally indicate that and it only added onto her growing frustrations. Not just in terms of this American built team, but in addition to her previous frustrations with the DST- the French intelligence agency she worked under.

"What did she say?" Azoulay questioned. He seemed genuinely lost.

Helen Park refolded the paper and her lips twitched at Eloise's conveniency. _Of course she knew the streets of East Berlin_. "There is an electronics store that we should be able to access according to our new colleague."

" _Oui._ The view to his apartment window is perfect," she elaborated. However, she suddenly became interested with Park's ability to translate. " _Tu parles français?"_

"I am familiar with the language, yes," she answered. The three of them began their short journey to the store using the back of the buildings to cut through rather than walking through the open streets. "It is imperative I broaden my languages so that collaborations with other foreign intelligence agencies are not as restrictive so long as there is a language barrier. Though _, my French does need some work_."

Eloise let out a soft snort at that, leading them into an apartment complex after efficiently picking the lock to grant them access.

Right when she had placed her first foot forward into the door, she momentarily glanced over her shoulder to the two of them and lifted a finger up to her lips. Surely they would have woken all of the locals had they walked in guns blazing.

Upon exiting the apartments, as expected, there were a few Stasi officers wandering around and all three of them knew they must be taken out if they wanted to get through. She was grateful the premises had been granted with a rather light crew of police.

" _Le magasin_ is going to be on the other side of this plaza," Eloise quietly assured, steadily aiming her weapon.

Azoulay and Park were one step ahead, inpatient to squeeze the trigger of their guns to eliminate the uniformed men who stood in their way.

" _Une...deux...._ ** _trois_** _."_

All at once, the officers instantly hit the pavement.

Agent Azoulay stopped the women from approaching the bodies. "I'll take care of them later. We need to focus on getting to Adler and Bell, as soon as possible."

 _Bell...?_ Eloise thought against inquiring about the person.

When she had picked the lock to the door that time around, she allowed Azoulay and Park to enter the store first, but she did not miss the wary glances they sent her when they eventually entered.

Eloise paused at the door, letting everything that had just occurred up until that point sink in. She shook off her exhaustion and followed the team members inside, gently shutting the door behind them.

They went straight to work, unpacking their spy equipment and ensuring the building was completely empty. The three of them did this in silence, wanting to set up everything before Kraus got the chance to speak with Volkov's team without them listening in.

A stomach growling broke the quietness and the two women kneeled in front of the shop's window slowly turned to the source of noise.

"Damn. I could go for some food right now," Agent Azoulay expressed passively and they somewhat ignored him. Food wasn't of importance. "Say, Vasiliev. You know any good places around here."

She did a double take at the question. _Is he serious?_

"Um, I don't know," she admitted. It was partially true. " _Avez-vous faim_?"

He turned to Park expectedly who was not so interested in the conversation.

"I believe she is asking you if you are hungry."

The man made a gruff sound of acknowledgment, but kept his eyes trained on Park as she attempted to catch any voices through the phone lines.

"Although, I am very eager to try the knackwursts here. I've heard they are quite appetizing in East Berlin," she added afterwards.

Eloise peered over questioningly to the woman across from her. The conversation at hand seemed... _ridicule_. Even more so when she had looked to Lazar and found him practically ogling the preoccupied British woman.

Helen Park was _une belle femme_ and an intelligent one at that. However, Azoulay only seemed to have noticed that _at that moment_.

_J'en peux plus..._

When he had realized he was staring for far too long, he shook off whatever was going through his mind and turned to exit the same way they had entered.

"I'm going to go get rid of the bodies and wait for Bell and Adler in the building we went through," he stated. "Yell if you need me."

" _D'accord_ ," Eloise called out over her shoulder, still a bit put off by the new atmosphere of the store. Whatever just happened with the man, it was very unpleasant to witness.

And a hidden part of her also secretly hoped that she wouldn't have to see Adler again- _at whatever cost_.

" _Park, gimme a sitrep_ ," the said American asked.

"We're in a storefront facing Kraus's apartment." Just as she had answered him, a flash of movement from the window across the street caught their eyes. "He just got home. You?"

"The Stasi are combing the area. I need to lay low. I'll catch up with you when the heat dies down."

Serves you right _américain_.

As Park leaned forward to adjust the audio, Eloise watched closely as there was not much else for her to do and leaned in, too. The woman seemed to had noticed that.

"How long have you worked for the DST?"

She hesitated. "Not long."

Helen seemed dissatisfied with the vague answer and it indicated that she wanted to asses Eloise- not get to know her.

"Clearly not." She did not know if she should take offense to the blunt observation. "I suspect you did not originally plan to have a career in intelligence, either."

_Either?_

" _Non. Non,_ I did not."

"Very intriguing."

Eloise stiffened. "Is it?"

"Quite. We have more in common than you might think Eloise Vasiliev."

What an obscured thing to say to a practical stranger and it made her wonder if Park requested to see her files beforehand. It would indicate she actually had a file _avec_ MI6 in the first place... _or even within the CIA_.

There was a subtle fight or flight instinct that kicked in and Eloise played it off casually. _Innocence was what she was best at._

"It seems that way doesn't it?" She responded calmly. "I'm glad I'm not the only _femme_ here."

Park was unconvinced with her act, much like Adler was.

"You would be utterly surprised with what a file can tell you," Park implied, utterly pleased with herself. "Names, background information, _disciplinary warnings_."

Eloise paused, leaning back on her knees at what the woman admitted and wondered what warnings she had stamped next to her name, slightly worried the DST began catching onto her holding key information without their authorization. She could not hide for much longer, but again, she refused to show how cornered she was beginning to feel from all directions.

She hummed in thought, still watching the woman who did not meet her gaze.

"I've always wanted to be a writer," Eloise confessed abruptly after a moment of silence passed. "But words can be manipulated. It does not tell you the full story. It leaves room for misinterpretation- seeing a threat that isn't there. I'm sure you know this, _mademoiselle_."

Park waited with a perked eyebrow for her to continue with the strange and personal story, finally looking up at Eloise.

"So I became a photographer et _j'adore la photographie_. Photos are quiet," she explained tacitly. "And I enjoy the quiet. Where I choose to point the camera is enough talk. And you know, a photo _never_ changes. Words do."

"Pardon me," Park said, raising a finger up. "I'm detecting some hostility, Ms. Vasiliev."

" _Oh! Ce n'est pas comme ça_. That is not my intention. But _mon amie_ , when you kill a target, you don't simply say it is so."

Park's lips pursed.

"You take a photo," Eloise finished, slightly tilting her head. " _Non?"_

She did not expect the low chuckle of amusement rumbling from the woman's chest and Park came off thoroughly satisfied with the implications. Eloise half-expected her to pull a gun, but a laugh was just fine with her.

"You are bloody trouble Eloise Vasiliev, I can tell. But I can't say I don't like it."


	8. poem three

_Have you ever felt the sting of betrayal, solnyshko?_

_It is like a poison that eats away at the man_

_From the inside out ._

_And when the man is hollow, all that is left is his anger_

_And the anger is like a rabid animal_

_It eats away at his bones._

_I have felt a betrayal so deep I am nothing but the skeleton of vengeance_


	9. does it ring a bell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are doing okay and hope this is not too short! Enjoy <3

"We're back."

Eloise straightened her position, no longer leaning against _la magasin's_ front door. Who she did not expect to see following Agent Azoulay inside was the same peculiar person from the safe house who hadn't paid a fraction of attention to her- not that she was complaining. However, it was just _très étrange._

In fact, the man did not even bother to look in her direction that time around, either. No greeting. No smile. No eyes met.

It seemed to have been normal behavior for the mysterious figure, because the other two did not share her slight concern. He simply walked to where Park was set up with a piercing look at Franz Kraus's direction through the window. It was like the ex-Stasi was nothing else, but a mere target to him.

"A car pulled up near Kraus's building a few minutes ago, but I didn't have a good angle to..." Park trailed off and Eloise leaned forward to see what had caught the woman's attention. "Just a moment, Kraus is on the telephone."

Low and behold, the location Eloise provided was indeed angled just perfectly to where anyone could see Kraus standing at his window clear as day. He never looked so troubled.

Kraus went off on a restless tangent over the phone in German and they could translate the words well enough to decipher that Volkov's crew somehow knew he was being followed into the café.

" _The briefcase is secure. It's been with me the entire time_."

Eloise crossed her arms over her chest, resting her chin on a leather clad palm in thought about the stressed reassurance over his belongings. They were concerned about the briefcase... _pourquoi_?

At Azoulay's instructions, Bell brandished a camera from his inner coat and Eloise was immediately drawn to the object. It was a photographer's bad habit.

" _J'aime_ _votre_ camera." He didn't respond. Perhaps he was not familiar with her language? "I like your camera. What model is it?"

Bell overlooked the casual compliment from Eloise, as though no one had been addressing him in the first place and continued to watch through the lens. The French woman felt rather embarrassed by the one sided interaction.

When the man finished off with his telephone meeting with a few parting words, it was only then that this _Bell_ seemed to finally acknowledge her presence. Eloise felt like she could shudder at how _glacial_ his eyes were. He did not say anything to her nor did she say anything to him, the latter unnerved by how unemotional his expression was.

Sure, people like Jason Hudson or Adler were intimidating and came off hardheaded, but looking at Bell was almost like you were looking down the barrel of _un pistolet_. You did not know what was going to come of it- a bullet or absolutely nothing at all.

"What do you think, Lazar?"

The two snapped out of their stare off. For a moment, Eloise believed Park had asked that regarding Bell, but quickly realized she was inquiring about Franz Kraus's conversation. ' _Je crève de soif.'_ Oh what she would do for a glass of wine.

Lazar briefly looked out into the streets. "Sounds like Volkov wants Kraus's briefcase."

Eloise silently nodded in agreement. Whatever was inside _la malette_ must be something of great importance.

"We should place a tracker in it. That case will lead us straight to Volkov," he added immediately. She found herself mentally applauding the man for his quick thinking and it seemed Helen Park had done the same.

"One of us can sneak into Kraus's apartment. Avoiding Kraus and his wife might be the greater challenge."

At the mention of the apartment, Eloise glanced out the glass door to the building and slightly hoped they would not make her the one to do the deed.

"Bell volunteers," Lazar offered without consultation.

Eloise would have felt sympathetic for him, but Bell was oddly unbothered and even prepared hisself to make an exit on the last syllable. She wondered if she looked like that when she was taking orders. _Nothing, but mere cogs in this great big machine._

"Eloise," Park started and the young woman perked up at the sound of her name. "It is imperative that you locate Adler's whereabouts. He certainly has the capabilities of looking after himself, but the last thing we need is an apprehended Adler."

_Non, non, non, non._

" _Ça marche_."

She did not leave any time for them to take note of the look of disgust on her face at the order. Regardless of her contempt for Henri, he was correct in saying that the agencies did not care for her dislikes and discomforts. It seemed she was reminding herself of that far too often these days.

"While they're doing that, I'll check around the exterior for any unwanted guests. Park, you can keep an eye on us from here," Lazar said. A mischievous glint shone in his eyes. "I'll try to give you my best angles."

"Lovely."

 _Oh ça suffit..._ Eloise wanted to gag and took that as her cue to leave immediately. She did not know what she would rather do- remain in here _avec les tourtereaux_ or be in the presence of the insufferable American man. And to think she even had a choice in the matter.

As Lazar had promised, the Stasis they had taken down were no where in sight, as though they hadn't been killed there in the first place. He did an excellent job. She figured he definitely   
had more experience in comparison to her with cleaning up a bloody scene.

As she walked to the apartment complex, her mind crept back to Bell. He didn't seem like an individual who was completely _there_. It was hard to describe or even place a finger on, but there was certainly a perturbing air about him. Perhaps she should've smiled?

"Hey," a voice suddenly called out above her head to draw her attention. It was clearly an American accent- a very _familiar_ accent at that.

Eloise stopped in her tracks and glanced up to find Adler leaning on a rooftop of a nearby building. She furrowed her brows. He was not in any predicament as Helen Park speculated given his absence. In fact, he seemed to be lounging up there with a cigarette in hand.

"You going to just stand there and look stupid?"

She was taken aback by the offhanded comment.

"You are a rude man."

Adler was entirely unfazed- dare she say, _bored_ with the observation. He has probably heard that one more times than he could possibly count. The man simply put out the burning cigarette on the roof itself, flicking it down at her and she nearly gasped at the audacity of him, barely dodging the piece of rubbish. He was testing her.

He suddenly disappeared from her sights and it only furthered her confusion. " _Monsieur_?"

As quick as he had gone, he quickly reappeared through the door of the same building and wordlessly walked past her.

She caught up to his purposeful strides towards the electronics store and she realized he knew where they had been, for some reason deciding against it to join them.

"Why were you up on that roof?"

He didn't look at her as he answered with, "You all seemed to have forgotten about the Stasi. Took three of them out."

It made sense, but he could have at least told Lazar or Park what he was doing or, better yet, where he was.

All of a sudden, he stopped her before she could open the door to regroup with the team and pulled out a camera from his jacket's inner pocket. It was the very one she had turned in to them yesterday.

When she made an eager attempt to grab it, he pulled his arm back. "Not so damn fast, kid."

_Kid? '_

_I am a lady'_ died on her tongue and she was forced to accept the slightly demeaning nickname. _Kid..._

"You're going to tell me what you saw back at the office."

She batted her eyes. "But _Monsieur Adler,_ I did not see a thing."

Eloise could practically hear his grip tighten on the camera and his jaw ticked at her stubbornness. He knew she was playing stupid and he did not care for it one bit.

" _Pourquoi_? Are you hiding something-"

She choked on a breath as she was violently slammed into the gate behind her and the back of her head screamed in agony as it had made contact with steel. Eloise could see just how terrified she looked through the reflections of his glasses and held back a shudder. An arm was pressed up against her neck- not tight enough to restrict her breathing, but it was tight enough to make her feel incredibly claustrophobic.

"Don't fuck with me, Vasiliev." Despite the scowl, he sounded eerily calm. "I know you saw something and you're going to keep your mouth shut."

She should have been too timid to defend herself, but the situation suddenly woke up something in her that had been pushed down for so long that she couldn't help herself.

"Or what? Are you going to kill me?"

The weight of his arm was suddenly pulled off of her collarbones and she straightened herself out, glaring up at the CIA operative. She had never been so manhandled by someone who was supposedly an ally. Perhaps he was on paper, but she was smarter than to believe he was a friend rather than a foe.

"No," he answered smoothly. "French intelligence might when they get a tip about one of their agents carrying around Soviet intel. Just takes one anonymous phone call."

Her jaw hung at the outrageous implications.

"Are you... _blackmailing me_?" She spluttered out.

Before the man could confirm her conclusions, a voice interrupted through the radio.

" _Bloody hell_ ," Park cursed. "Adler, we've got a situation."

The two moved instantly, entering into the electronic's store like the conversation hadn't even occurred- as if Adler hadn't threatened her not minutes prior.

Their presence alerted Lazar and he hurriedly beckoned them over to the front of the store to take a look out of the window. Franz Kraus and a group of unidentifiable men were loading two people in the back of a van, several pedestrians stopping to look on in horror at what was happening.

Eloise gasped when she recognized Greta Keller, thrashing as much as her bound body possibly could. Fight mode instantly kicked in and she made a move to go outside and intervene when she also noticed Bell's slack form being carried out of the building.

"Not another fucking move," Adler ordered. "They could be the key to tracking Volkov."

She whipped around at the outrageously callous idea. One of his own men were knocked out cold and being sent to Russian mafia right before his very eyes and that was the first thing to come to his mind? Eloise bit her tongue and she almost felt just as restrained as her friend by those words.

Eloise felt helpless as she witnessed Volkov's cronies shut the back of the vehicle's doors with a deafening slam, the tires screeching as they made their quick getaway.

"I'm afraid I must agree with Adler," Park threw in. She pulled out a small tracking device, a flashing red dot appearing on the screen and it had begun to move away from them. "Bell had managed to place the tracker in Kraus's briefcase in a nick of time. This is could be our last chance of apprehending Anton Volkov."

The young woman said nothing and a million thoughts raced through her head. _If dyadya were here, he would be outraged..._

And with that thought, she found herself feeling outraged- almost like she had been feeling that way on his behalf.

**_Have you ever felt the sting of betrayal, solnyshko?_ **

_Da_ , she thought bitterly.

Eloise watched the three of them huddled around the tracking device, eager to know where Volkov was located and a metallic taste flooded her mouth. She hadn't realized she was biting her lip the entire time and carefully pressed a finger up to the wound to find fresh blood with a wince. She shook off the feeling once more.

"Let's roll out," Adler exclaimed once the red dot was at a safe enough distance for them to follow the trail.

"Radio Henri and provide him with our location," Park instructed. Eloise knew it was her that she was addressing.

" _Henri. C'est Vasiliev. Les magasins d'électronique across from Franz Kraus's apartment_."

It took the truck driver a remarkable seven minutes to show up outside of the store which meant he had been in the area, or at least nearby.

They swiftly exited, knowing that the Stasi would be investigating the perimeter soon given the frightening scene of a kidnapping that occurred in front of the eyes of the public. It was a bold move.

Henri slyly gestured to the back of the delivery truck as Park handed over the device and Adler opened up the doors up immediately after.

When Eloise finally settled in the back with the rest of the crew, she instantly took note of the absence of meat boxes. There were only weapons and heavy equipment that would get them into trouble if they were to go through any checkpoints.

" _Qu'est-ce que c'est,_ Henri?" She inquired into the mic.

She could hear him chuckling through the barrier.

" _Guns, mademoiselle."_

Eloise did not press further, but it seems the man had a change of heart. Perhaps he finally felt a fraction of guilt for how he had been talking to her.

" _They_ _recognize my face by now_ ," he eventually explained. " _And besides, nos amis at the BND are working the checkpoints ce soir. They heard of our little tâche. Ne t'inquiète pas."_

He had an awful habit of telling her not to worry and it always managed to irritate her every single time he would say it.

" _Do y'all ever speak in English_?" Another voice chimed in.

The person seemed to be sitting with Henri in the front, because she did not see anyone else in the back besides the three other people who were prepping their weapons. Adler must have known the man, because he had smirked at the sound of the complaint.

"Sims, you hanging in there _?"_

A scoff could be heard. " _Well I haven't been thrown out of this damn truck by Stasis yet , so yeah, I'd say I'm good."_

Sims appeared to be a good acquaintance to the CIA agent, because he did not lash out from the sarcastic quip. He actually looked mildly amused.

Mulling over the vaguely familiar voice, Eloise realized that he too was at the warehouse the day prior- the man Lazar was conversing with. He did not come off too thrilled with her presence that night, either.

"Vasiliev," Adler called out across from her when he noticed her dazed expression. "Start moving."

She did not like those kinds of guns. So... _bruyant_. And she did not like loud, but yet again, he did not ask her if she did.

Eloise only picked up an MP5, however, that still did not seem to satisfy him. He tossed over rope in her direction and she perked an eyebrow, wordlessly questioning the heavy bundle.

"What? Think we're just gonna waltz in through the front door?"

-

The glass underneath her feet felt sturdy, not that it was any bit surprising- she had done this a thousand times over before. Any spy would be given the opportunity to climb a roof and take pictures through openings on a rooftop, however, she has never really made a loud entrance in order to ambush anyone. It was always _take the picture_ and _allez_.

Heights never made her nervous, but this scenario certainly did and she flexed her grip on the MP5 in her hand, trying to settle her nerves. It was tempting to just put a bullet in the back of Volkov's head as she watched him kick Bell's chair back and aimed a gun to his head, but Park would have been devastated.

Greta Keller just so happened to look up towards the ceiling and made eye contact with Eloise, to which the French woman lifted up a finger up to her lips.

What followed could only be described as organized chaos- of course not so _organized_ to the Spetsnaz. Adler was the first to make the move.

The windows were all shattered, glass sprinkling down as they threw in smoke grenades down below. The entire warehouse became a fog and she could vaguely hear the sounds of men coughing behind their balaclavas as they roped down.

Bullets began to whizz past her as she made it halfway down and let one hand off the rope to unholster the gun once more. She kept descending to the ground while shooting at the direction of the trajectories. There was nothing discreet about what they were doing- they were working like combats rather than spies.

Her feet finally touched solid ground and she hurriedly detached the rope from her person as the smoke began to clear up. Eloise knew being exposed there would be a death wish as they were incredibly outnumbered.

After taking down a few surrounding hostiles before they could fire away at her, her mind instantly went to Greta Keller.

Frantically turning around, she found Bell and the BND agent where they had been tied to metal chairs. Eloise paused in her steps as she saw Park approaching and figured that the British woman was intending to free Bell, so she took that as her chance to head to Greta for aid.

The bound woman grinned upon seeing Eloise running up to her. " _Hallo, Meine Freundin."_

Eloise did not stop to return the greeting, knowing the situation at hand was time sensitive, not only in terms of Volkov managing to escape, but also being in the crossfire like that. She made work of the zip ties tightened around the woman's wrists with a knife and slid the blade back and forth. The agent's skin was swollen from the restriction of blood flow, colored in a furious red.

"So you work for the CIA, too?" Greta speculated humorously.

The young woman hissed as her hands began to cramp from the repetitive motion of slicing away at the stubborn restraints, letting out a sigh of relief when it finally snapped in half. "How you can be so _nonchalante_ right now is _un miracle_."

Instantly after she was freed, Greta ran towards a dead body to swoop down and retrieve her own weapon. She smirked towards Eloise who was busy firing away at approaching Spetsnaz.

"Dankeshön," the BND agent thanked. "I've got your back if you have mine." 

Eloise could hear the thrill in her voice and ducked down behind a barrel to find that her new team were also experiencing a similar sort of adrenaline rush. They all wore determined looks on their faces, relentlessly firing their weapons with perfect accuracy. However, no one seemed to be enjoying the combat more than Adler was.

And clearly no one detested it more than Eloise.

With a suck of air, she popped back up and fired up at the catwalk, watching as one man was hit from the round and toppled over the edge with a hard slam onto the ground below. There were more hostiles emerging from the side rooms and she trained her fire on them immediately.

She felt a presence nearby and could not help, but do a double take when she noticed it was _Bell_ that was positioned next to her. Eloise refocused on the situation at hand, continuing to take down any militants in her sights.

" _Bonjour,_ Bell," unintentionally slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, lost as to why she felt compelled to properly greet him in that moment.

" _Privyet_ , Eloise."

For a moment, she froze in place. _Russian?_

A bullet barely missed her and it got her to wake up from the brief shock of Bell's unexpected greeting. _Bell est russe?_ Eloise had to duck down behind the barrel once more to let the news sink in, but got back up just as quick.

Bell moved on, as though he was on a mission of his own, pushing forward to pursue Volkov's trail. She could not help, but watch him as he quickly got rid of any obstacle in his way with smooth, yet brutal force.

Eloise knew she had to get it together and attempted to follow after the man, however, she was so fixated on what was in front of her that she missed a Spetsnaz attempting to tackle her from the side.

The soldier grabbed onto the barrel of her gun, pushing it towards the ground as it was firing off and the bullets only slightly missed her foot.

It was like a game of _tir à la corde,_ Eloise gritting her teeth as she desperately pulled at her weapon to regain control over it, but the man's strength was overbearing. She would not be able to win if she continued on this way.

He did not expect her to let go altogether and the butt of the gun jabbed into his abdomen with a groan. She saw that as an opportune moment of vulnerability, swiftly catching the MP5 that was slack in his hands due to the unexpected pain and swung the end of it to mirror a pistol-whip. It was not enough to take the hefty man down, but enough to crack his nose.

Eloise flipped the barrel to aim at him and before he could recover, she got her headshot.

" _Va te faire enculer,"_ she cursed at the dead man as she panted.

Looking up, she immediately noticed Adler standing by as he had watched the scene unfold and she felt her anger boil. _He had watched the whole thing...and did nothing._ She failed to recall if he had looked expressionless or _disappointed_ by the fact she came out of that unscathed. They were supposed to be looking out for one another and it was then that she realized the unsettling reality. Eloise could not trust any of these people.

Eloise seethed as she saw him run where Bell had disappeared and tried her best to calm down. **_Have you ever felt the sting of betrayal, solnyshko?_**

 _Da, dyadya_. _Da._


	10. vietnam

_ February 25th, 1981 _

Eloise flicked the ashes of her cigarette onto the ground and continued to stare out into the distance as she leaned up against the safe house. To put it plainly, there wasn't really much of a view outside. She was surrounded by nothing so all she had to look at was nothing.

Her mood had soured back in Henri's truck as he drove them to where the team had traveled from. It was all too much at once.

Discovering that the BND had raided her apartment without her knowledge to pack her belongings was violating. She was to be relocated, though after calming down, she realized the Stasi were starting to catch on to her and it was only a matter of time until they realized she was a spy. She was slightly relieved she would not have to deal with the consequences of that had she stayed longer.

However, Eloise felt outraged when Helen Park had indulged with the fact that the safe house was located in West Berlin. She felt _stupide_. They put her through so much trouble in order to keep her in the dark only to find out they still had been in Berlin all along. _Stupide_.

 _Mais,_ it wasn't discovering their location that pushed her over the edge. It was Anton Volkov.

They had bagged his head to keep him from knowing where the truck was headed- to keep him blind and vulnerable. Eloise wished they had duct tapped his mouth shut, too. Regardless of the deprivation of his sight, he heard her speak and even recalling his vile words made her feel sick.

" _Take a picture of this son of a bitch. We can let headquarters know we caught him,"_ Adler had instructed her. She didn't think much of it and took out the camera- the one he had returned to her. The click was the loudest thing in the back of the truck at that moment and Volkov's head turned to the direction of the sound.

" _Fini_ ," she mumbled after following his orders.

A low rumble came from underneath the opaque bag and everyone seated exchanged glances, not sure as to what was so funny.

" _French_ _suka_ ," he cursed. Volkov didn't know her, but it seemed he knew of her occupation quite well. " _Those ones always with the kamery_. _I caught one once, back in Dijon. Snapped her neck."_

" _Keep talking and we might just snap yours_ ," Park had threatened.

Adler did not utter a word and kept smoking his cigarette, unbothered by what was said. Lazar clearly did not approve of the confession, but he did not make it known.

However, Bell was a completely different story altogether. The entire ride, he kept his stony glance on the man's covered head without ever pulling his eyes away. Even when Volkov had spoken to her, Bell didn't waver. _Il est étrange._

After Greta was dropped off to her designated BND location in West Berlin and after Anton Volkov was handed over to MI6, placed into a white van not so gently, Eloise made it clear she wanted to be alone. Everyone went to work immediately inside, Adler briefly mentioning a phone call with Jason Hudson.

Eloise turned her head to the side to blow out the smoke in her lungs and the breeze took the burned tobacco with it, some ash sprinkling onto the gravel.

She tensed when she saw the door nearby open wider from her peripheral and knew someone was going to join her as she heard a zippo clank open.

The French woman would have expected Adler to be out here before she expected, who she presumed to be, Sims.

He did not look at her as he kept his eyes trained on the same area she had been previously concentrating on and shook his head as he audibly let out an air of smoke.

"Some night this was," he scoffed, slouching further onto the wall.

His casual demeanor was not something she was used to nor anticipating and she could have sworn he was not so approving of her the first time he laid eyes on her.

" _Je suis d'accord_ ," she eventually agreed, remembering there was a cigarette in her hand, taking another drag. "Some night..."

There was silence for a few moments, but not necessarily an awkward one. "You work for DST?"

" _Unfortunately_."

Eloise frantically cupped a hand over mouth at the instinctive response she had recklessly slipped out. She wanted to hit herself. _Imbécile._

However, she was surprised to hear lighthearted laughter coming from the man and her eyes slightly widened in shock from his reaction.

"Glad to know you're not uptight like Park," he said after regaining his composure. "You have any run ins with MI6?"

" _Non_ ," she answered after some thought. "Just Germans. Sometimes Italians and other French clients."

He shook his head again. "Damn. You'd love the CIA. Seems like we're going international these days."

" _Monsieur,_ I never complained." Eloise perked an eyebrow. " _J'adore_ France. I don't think I would be very fond of America _."_

There was a far away look on his face. "Between you and me, not too sure I blame you."

"A CIA agent who doesn't love America?" That also was a first.

"Again, _between you and me_. I was in Vietnam a few years back. Never said I didn't love my country, but _shit_ , did it fuck me up."

Eloise stood there in silence and the poems strapped to her stomach underneath her shirt seemed to burn her skin as she processed his words. She understood what he had meant- her _dyadya_ understood what he had meant.

" _And her flag bleeds red_ ," she whispered, recalling the poem. Sims looked taken aback by the random statement and put more space between the two of them.

"I'm not gonna lie," he started. "You seem alright, Vasiliev. But that shit was creepy."

She could tell by his tone that he was merely joking and she let out a twitch of a smile at the rare, friendly interaction that he granted her with. Eloise really only had Greta to call a friend these days, but she didn't feel so lonely in that moment.

" _Pourquoi_?" She couldn't help, but question. "Why are you out here?

"Doc wanted you inside." _Doc?_ "But I wasn't expecting to see you out here looking all... _like that_."

"Like what?"

"Like you just got the worst news of your life," he shrugged. "Figured you needed some company. It isn't much, but I'm willing to bet it's as much as you're gonna get."

She nodded her head in thought. " _Tu as raison_. I believe that, Sims."

He must have noticed the questioning tone added to his name and realized she didn't actually know his name in the first place. They were never formally introduced to one another.

"Lawrence Sims," he added. "Anything you need, I got. From guns to uniforms."

" _Très bon."_ She kept that as a mental note for future references. "Eloise Vasiliev."

He still did not trust her completely, that much was apparent, as they had only just properly met. Nonetheless, Eloise still felt strongly compelled to ask him about Bell and who he worked for- more importantly, why he spoke _russe_.

"Lawrence-" the creak of the door opening interrupted the start of a question and Lazar popped his head out.

"Adler's been looking for the two of you. I'd get inside before he sees you both for himself."

Sims rolled his eyes at the statement and flicked the rest of the cigarette onto the ground, stubbing it with the tip of his shoe. Eloise hesitantly did the same, wishing she could have stayed outside for a bit more longer.

"Yeah, sure," the American shrugged off. "He might have joined us himself. Loosened up- shit, it would've done him some good."

Adler? Leisure? Not likely.

Eloise was in the dark about why he would want to speak with her and she wondered if he wanted to continue their conversation, though, she hardly could call it that. Confrontation seemed more suitable. Apart of her wanted it to continue and she wanted to bite back after what he had done- _what he hadn't done-_ in Volkov's warehouse, how he had simply turned his back on her when she could have easily been killed. Where Greta could have been easily killed. Where _Bell_ could have been easily killed.

Helen Park turned towards the regrouping of Lawrence and Eloise, sending over a curt nod of acknowledgment in their direction. Bell remained attentive to the evidence board where Adler stood, as though his eyes were practically glued onto the man.

"Team," the head of the operation started. "We managed to take down Volkov, but we're not close to being done here."

Park took that as her cue to walk up next to Adler, facing the group as she folded her arms across her chest. "Perseus is still at large, as I'm sure you're all aware. If we wish to track him down, we must become more rigorous with our investigation."

"Rigorous?" Sims echoed. "I'd say we've _been_ pretty damn rigorous."

"What we've been doing is light work compared to what Perseus could be up to." Adler sent a glare at the photo of the man pinned up dead center. "We're kicking things up a notch in the days to come."

"Next mission already?" Lazar inquired.

"Not quite yet," Park answered. "Bell mentioned seeing photos of a nuke Volkov somehow managed to acquire. There is a high possibility he's already smuggled it into Soviet territory-"

"That's not a hundred percent," Adler cut in.

Vasiliev frowned and did not think twice before blurting out, "And it is not _cent pour cent_ that Volkov has not."

From the corner of her eye, it seemed Eloise was the only one who had noticed the twitch of Bell's lips. Little did she know that the quick move was caught behind Russell Adler's sunglasses, as well. It was barely a smile, but for the hollow man, it was definitely _something_. Nonetheless, the American man continued on like she hadn't uttered a single word.

"Park and I will have a meeting with Hudson tomorrow morning. Until then, I'd say expect long days of travelling."

"And not the vacation kind," Sims added bitterly.

"That's all. Dismissed."

It was not entirely clear as to why it happened, but Bell and Eloise just so happened to meet one another's eyes when the briefing was over. As the group dispersed to tend to preparing their exit, the two stood in place. However, Eloise did not miss the lingering of Adler's presence for a brief moment, but he eventually backed away apprehensively.

She no longer felt nervous around the enigmatic character and approached him carefully.

"I can sense when someone has something to say. And you have a lot," he spoke, as though he was reading her. His accent confirmed her initial suspicions- Bell was _russe._

How a Russian had found a place with the CIA was a phenomena completely unheard of- at least to her. It was a great risk with great consequences and the U.S. even had reservations with British intelligence agencies, much less with the French.

"You-" she was unsure how to word it properly. "You are Russian?"

He had a blank look on his face, like it was the most casual thing in the world. " _Da_. Ex-KGB."

Eloise was thrown for a loop at the title. Ex-KBG and he was standing right in front of her in the flesh for an American operation. It was unprecedented and the journalist part of her knew this would make an incredible story one day. Bell was making history and he did not even seem to register that.

" _Incroyable_ ," she praised breathlessly. "How have you found a place with the Americans? It must have been difficult."

He had that very same far away look that Lawrence Sims had worn back outside during their small talk. There was pain- _souffrance_.

"I have worked with _amerikantsy_ before. I fought in Vietnam. MACV-SOG."

"So you must know _Monsieur_ Sims very well then."

" _Da._ I worked with Adler and Sims in the war. We are like _brat'ya_."

_Brothers_. The word made her remember her papa's own brother and the opportunity of having met someone like Bell was like striking treasure. " _Enchanté_ , Bell."

"Your last name. It is _russkiy, nyet?_ "

Eloise almost had forgotten the fact her surname was Russian and hesitated in divulging about her background with Bell. She had not minded entertaining Greta Keller with that piece of information, but discussing her Russian side in a CIA safe house made her feel uneasy. Nonetheless, Bell seemed more open than she had originally thought. Yes, he was intense when he looked at people- hollow, even. But he was not a threat to her.

Bell was actually okay.

" _Oui_ ," she answered, ironically in her first language, eyes fleeting towards Adler as though implying _I don't want him to hear me talking about this_.

The man was probably aware of her last name, as well as everyone else in the building. However, that didn't mean she would speak easily about it with him or even near him. He seemed like the type to eavesdrop. Little to her knowledge, Adler was doing _exactly_ that.

"Many fled _Rossiya_ when the Germans invaded. Your case is not unheard of."

If she did not know any better, she would say that Bell was attempting to console her in his own strange way. Why else would he have expressed such a thing? Eloise wanted to mention the imprisonment, getting slightly ahead of herself, and she fortunately swallowed the words down.

It was _très tôt_ for that. That had only been the first time they talked and getting answers about her uncle then and there meant blind trust.

And Eloise was never one for blind trust. Not since reading her uncle's poetry, at least. It was the very thing he warned of so often in his writing.

"I'm curious," she admitted slowly. "Why turn your back on the KGB?"

The two whipped around to the sound of a radio at the table clattering onto the ground, shattering into separate pieces. Adler cursed under his breath at his minor _accident_ and beckoned Bell over.

"Kid, come help me clean this shit up."

And before Eloise could get her answer, Bell was already by the man's side, stooping down to collect the batteries that had rolled off farther away from the radio itself.

Adler did not even bother offering any help, although it was _his_ doing. Instead, he stood there for a moment with a peculiar stance as he looked at Eloise. She could tell he was frowning, even with those sunglasses on his face.

"Let's talk in my office before you leave." He didn't wait for her to follow behind him, taking a cigarette out to smoke on the way there. Eloise studied the back of his head questioningly before finally moving her legs.

Adler shut the door immediately as she stepped inside, still taking deep drags from the cigarette every now and then. He walked over to an ashtray on the table and tapped it against the edge, but she noticed the black duffel bag right next to it- it was _that_ duffel bag. It was situated in the same exact position she had found the needle. The bag seemed to mock her.

He took note of her sheepish reaction and let a subtle smirk play on his lips at the sight. As though he just had caught her red handed.

"You know any good bars in West Berlin?"

It sounded like something Lazar would ask, not Adler. She had to make sure she was talking to the right man, eyes gradually tearing away from the table to him.

" _Je ne sais pas_ ," she answered skeptically. Of course she didn't know of any bars on this side of the wall. "My work has been in East Berlin up until now."

He traced along the bottom of his chin with his thumb in thought. "Normally don't go to the same place twice, but I know a place we could meet."

" _We_?"

"What I said, wasn't it?" Adler put out the cigarette in that very same ashtray. "There's going to be a person of interest near your apartment tonight. I want pictures of that meeting."

"And what does that have to do with a bar?"

"You'll hand over the photos there. We won't be using the safe house for this next mission so you won't be needed."

Eloise was not fond of how he spoke of her like she was simply discardable to him and the team. She was a person- a talented person at her job at that.

"I think you underestimate me, _monsieur."_

If she could have taken those word back, she would have. Their underestimation could be a weapon to further her investigation and she hoped he wouldn't catch on.

Adler was silent for a moment, most likely trying to decipher her vague words.

"Is that so?" It was like he was the great big lion who caught the prey in a trap. "You up to something, Vasiliev?"

And she wondered, for even the slightest second, if the man was like all the others she had to sneak past. It was a very dangerous thought. Could she smile and bat her eyes up at him like she had done _avec les_ Stasis and he would let her go? Or would he see right through her? Take her seriously?

The act came naturally to her, eyes hooded over as she began to put on a little smile. Eloise stood in place, but her demeanor certainly did shift as she slightly tilted her head.

"Maybe you'll just have to wait and find out," Eloise sultrily responded.

His unfazed expression was not only disappointing, but incredibly embarrassing and awkward as well. He did not even find her flirtatious persona funny, his face stony as ever.

"Are you done?"

Eloise instantly morphed back into her usual demeanor around him. Tense and frowning.

"Good," Adler finished.

He picked up a pen and scrawled onto a sticky note on the table, immediately holding it out to her when he was done.

"Location for the meeting tonight and the location for the bar for the exchange. Got it?"

" _Oui, c'est tout_?" She hoped there was not any more favors.

"That's all. Henri will be outside to drive to where our suspect is."

Curtly nodding her head, Eloise turned around to exit the office and pocketed the note. She despised the fact she would have to do another mission right after the East Berlin one, but knew she had no choice. However, before she could turn her hand on the doorknob to leave, Adler stopped her for one last request.

"Vasiliev, wear lipstick tomorrow. Make it red."

Her hands stilled for a moment, gritting her teeth at the absurd order. _Rogue_ was the staple of French beauty and whether Adler knew that or not was beyond her care. The fact he would even ask for such a shallow and pointless thing was what bothered her most and her grip tightened around the doorknob, the leather gloves making the action heard.

Eloise inhaled deeply through her nose, doing an excellent job at maintaining her composure. She did not verbally respond, nor did she turn around, but her pause indicated she had heard him loud and clear.

The French woman continued to exit the office.

-

With Henri sat in the driver's seat, Eloise in the passenger, the car was silent and parked strategically on the side of the road. The windows were tinted enough to where their 'targets' would not be able to spot the pair from up the street when it was this dark outside. Eloise fought to keep her eyes open, drifting in and out of sleep every so often as she was plagued by exhaustion from the busy day. Henri seemed to notice her sleepiness as he elbowed her arm when her head had drooped down once more.

" _Prêter attention, s'il vous plaît ,"_ he murmured. Henri ignored the drawn out sigh from the young woman and kept his eyes peeled for the persons in question. "I need you awake."

Eloise rested her elbow on the center console to prop up her chin on her palm, tiredly joining him in watching the vacant street. No one would be up and about at that late of a time- she peered down at her watch and read _4:00._

Half an hour had gone by and there was still no sign of any shady individuals, Eloise checking the note to make sure they had gotten the details right.

_3_  
_Two unidentifiable. One may go by_ _Strong Man_

" _Peut_ - _être_ _Monsieur Adler_ was wrong," she offered.

Henri turned to her like she had just said the most naive thing he had ever heard, even chuckling after processing the statement. " _Non, non. Les américains_ don't do _maybe_ 's and this information comes from MI6. They will be here. _Attendez_."

Eloise knew that waiting was a vital part of spying. However, she just wanted to go to her new apartment and get away from it all for just a few hours. She was patient, but she was done for the day.

Almost immediately, two approaching silhouettes caught the corner of her eye and Eloise did a double take outside the vehicle's windshield. Henri must have noticed them as well as he frantically pushed her arm off the center console and opened it to retrieve a listening device.

"Where is the third?" Henri whispered, more to himself than to his passenger.

She mentally asked herself the same thing, looking out the driver's side window and the passenger's side window just incase, but saw nothing. _Maybe he is behind us..._

As she suspected, peering into the rear view, Eloise could somewhat make out a person walking towards the two individuals waiting in front of the alleyway.

" _Trois_ ," Eloise softly observed. That caught Henri's attention as he shifted around in his seat to spot the same individual. "Strong Man _est une femme?"_

"How clever," Henri commented sarcastically. Of course, Strong Man, in actuality, was a seemingly frail older lady.

Although the car was tinted, the two French DST agents ducked their heads down just incase S _trong Man_ could see them as she walked past their position. Steadily, they popped their heads back up and Henri got to work on dialing in with the microphone to eavesdrop on _le rendez-vous._

"We just need to hear confirmation that _la femme_ is Strong Man," Henri reminded, eyes still trained on the group of people. "I will begin the recording. Then-"

" _Je vais prendre une photo,"_ Eloise finished, already holding her camera up to her face- having made sure she did not equip her personal one.

" _Zdravstvuyte, Sinclair,"_ one of the men greeted in Russian at the sight of the older woman. Eloise and Henri remained quiet as he clicked record, the two keenly listening in.

" _Privyet,"_ she responded. " _Menya zovut Leslie Sinclair._ "

_My name is Leslie Sinclair_ , the French woman automatically translated in her head. It seemed being part Russian was increasingly becoming more convenient the more she worked.

"Do not use that name," the other hushed. "We know who you are."

" _Oy,_ really?" _Madame_ Sinclair drawled out in a thick accent. "By the looks of you, I would not have known that you had a clue. _Idioty."_

Henri smirked, but Eloise bore a more serious look as she was intent on hearing the confirmation they needed to leave the scene.

"Not very nice."

"I would not be here if I was nice."

Suddenly, the three grew quiet, most likely to speak of business matters. Henri and Eloise were not there to figure out what the subject matter was, but merely to hear it for themselves that Leslie Sinclair was a person of interest. A suspect. Eloise wasn't sure as to why, though.

"Are you who we are looking for?"

Henri and Eloise leaned in.

" _Da_. _Ya_ Strong Man. _Ya rabotayu na Vadim Rudnik."_

Once Henri had heard the two words he could recognize, he stopped the recording. Eloise scrolled in to zoom on Leslie Sinclair's face, waiting for it to focus so she could take _la photo_. A click and it was done.

"Vasiliev," he said. "Do you know what she said?"

"I don't speak Russian," she responded smoothly. Eloise pulled out a cigarette and lit it. " _Mon père_ never taught me. _Je parle français."_

_Yes I am Strong Man. I work for Vadim Rudnik._


	11. america's monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 long updates for you guys bc classes started up again and this semester seems like it'll be a lot. idk when the next time i will update will be, but hopefully soon! thanks for reading friends, have a good day/night (:

_ February 25th, 1981 _

Eloise lazily stirred the straw in her glass of water while her cheek rested on the palm of her hand, zoned out to the sound of ice clanking against her cup.

She successfully tuned out the blaring music and obnoxious drunken chatter when concentrating hard enough on her drink and, every so often, reeled back into reality to survey the building.

From any outsider's perspective, Eloise Vasiliev was quite obviously being stood up. The occasional predatory glance was thrown the young lady's way from intoxicated men who passed by her stool. A nice looking girl should not be by herself at a bar, seemingly heartbroken.

Her leg bounced up and down uneasily as a few minutes of waiting turned into a long, dreadful hour of waiting. She shifted towards the window nearest to her to observe the bustling streets of West Berlin.

_He should've been here ages ago. Je ne comprends pas._

Eloise quietly clicked her tongue because of the tardiness and she looked down to her wrist watch, briefly rolling her eyes. She was half tempted to call it in and notify her superiors, but she knew it was imperative that she wait around just incase Adler walked right through those bar's doors.

"Come here alone, _liebste_?"

She refrained from scowling as the group of inebriated imbeciles stumbled along, but nonetheless, she still wordlessly sent a tight lipped smile regardless of her obvious discomfort. She didn't need to cause a scene.

" _Connard,_ _"_ she cursed under her breath.

The young woman stifled through her bag and carefully took out the _rouge_ along with a compact mirror, flipping it open to gracefully retouch the red lipstick painted on her lips from earlier. She had subconsciously gnawed away at her lip out of nervousness to the point the bold red had faded into a subtle pink shade.

Eloise tucked away the tube of lipstick and slowly traced along the outline of her mouth to make the appearance a tad bit neater, but her index finger paused its movement at her bottom lip.

She made eye contact with the man staring intently at her in the reflection, her heart rate slightly picking up, but she didn't let the alarm shine through. Instead, Eloise shut the compact mirror and twisted around in her seat to get a better look at the person.

Sunglasses. Scars. Leather jacket. _Adler._

"Where have you been?" She innocently asked between clenched teeth and the American disregarded her implied annoyance, merely pulling the seat out directly across from hers to join her.

Eloise's glance flew towards the obvious stains on the edge of his jacket's sleeve, immediately recognizing that it was blood. Whether or not it came from him was not any of her concern, but an onlooker noticing the small detail most definitely was.

_Oui,_ they were in West Berlin, but they could never be too careful.

Without hesitation, Eloise reached over the table to rest her hand over the splatter with the expectation that the action would come off as a sign of endearment rather than a slick coverup. She inconspicuously surveyed their surroundings with the hope that no one spotted the blood.

That explained _la lenteur_.

The man perked an eyebrow and she managed to catch the glare at her hand from behind his tinted shades, but he eventually played along regardless of his reservations. When he briefly looked at her lips, the scowl quickly turned into recognition.

" _Entschuldige_ _die Verspätung_."

Sorry _mon cul_. "No matter. I'm sure it was important. The traffic these days is terrible- especially with those dreadful checkpoints."

Eloise squeezeed his arm for emphasis at the 'checkpoints' bit and his lip twitched.

" _Ja_. Terrible."

Adler gently shrugged off her touch and laid his hands in his lap, safely tucked away underneath the table from any wandering eyes. He leaned forward in his seat and regarded her from the rim of his sunglasses that he still had yet to take off.

"Did you get my photos?" He asked bluntly.

On cue of the mention of photographs, Eloise gently placed an envelop in front of her and cunningly slid the requested item towards him with her fingertips.

His eyes seemed to glow with delight at the mere sight of it and drew no time in greedily pocketing the intel inside his jacket. They both took sips from their drinks, casually taking a look around the bar once more.

" _Dankeschön_."

Eloise hummed at that, still irritated with the fact she'd been sat there all that time for such an underwhelming and, quite frankly, rude 'date' to show up.

He did not seem to really care for her occasional judgmental once overs and merely continued to watch her as she imprinted her lipstick on the clear glass of water. "You know I can't stand it when you do that. It's not professional."

She stopped herself from scoffing as she set her drink down.

"Oh. And what was it that you didn't like again? I'm sure you know how funny my memory can be."

He chose not to answer her and wordlessly reached his arm over-the one _not littered with blood_ \- and wiped a spare napkin around the rim of her cup.

Before he withdrew his hand, he silently communicated with his eyes. _No evidence left behind_. She was too prideful to thank him for covering for her. A crucial detail easily skipped over on her part.

After a few more agonizing moments of stale small talk and rather awkward alternations of taking sips from their water in-between silences, Adler seemed to have had enough with the entire 'date' altogether. He made it a point to roll his sleeve up and check his wristwatch for the fifth time in ten minutes- _charmeur_.

"Well would you look at that." That was the most excited he sounded all night. "It's getting late. I should walk you home."

"Yes." She could not be bothered to hide her relief, either. "Please."

Eloise was stunned by how quickly he had shot up from his chair, swiftly taking her coat in his hands before she could even get the chance to do so. Her surprise furthered as he held it out for her to slip her arms through the sleeves and she immediately hesitated. The woman narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder and Adler only gave her a bored look in return.

He leaned in to murmur, "Put the damn coat on."

_Ah, there he is_. She tried not to cause a scene and put on her jacket with his assistance, very much eager to leave.

Once more, she grew skeptical as _le américain_ got ahead of her and opened up the backdoor of the bar for her- as though he owned the place. Eloise paused for a moment again and that seemed to have irritated Adler, jutting his chin towards the alley as a way to tell her to hurry up.

She heard the door shut behind her, watching as her breath became visible in the cold air and she rubbed her gloved hands together.

"You _américains_ cannot even _act_ chivalrous to save your lives," Eloise muttered plainly.

He stood next to the French woman as he lit up a cigarette, shooting a brief side-eye her way. 

"Chivalry is a waste of time," he responded, equally as plain. "Besides, I helped you with the damn jacket, didn't I?"

She turned to face him and rolled her eyes, sliding a hand in her right pocket. A folded piece of paper rested in between her middle and index finger as it was swiped up into the air and she perked an eyebrow at his obvious ingenuity.

" _C'est vrai_?" His cigarette paused midway as he spotted what he had slipped in her pocket earlier being displayed out in the open like that. "You are an opportunist, _monsieur_."

"You're being reckless," he hissed out. "Put that away."

Begrudged, she did exactly that.

"And you're better off sticking with German," Adler threw in before finally taking a drag. "You're in Berlin."

She disregarded his recommendation that she ditch her mother tongue. "May I leave, _monsieur_?"

"I said I'd walk you home."

Eloise huffed and the mere thought of spending more time alone with him was enough to irritate her.

" _Non._ No need. I'll call a taxi."

Without another word, Adler grabbed the crook of her elbow and began the walk to her apartment against her wishes.

Her feet dragged for a while, but she felt like a spoiled child resisting it all. However, that did not deter him from practically pulling at her and she knew she had no say in the matter. Eventually, she found the motivation to walk without his brutish assistance and his hand slid away from her coat, much to her satisfaction.

It was unpleasantly quiet for the first few minutes. Occasionally, Eloise would peer up at the man next to her who was still smoking away and her eyes were drawn to the scars decorating his face as his cheeks sunk inside his mouth. She never paid attention to the disfigured skin previously and she wondered how the CIA agent had come to get them.

Whatever the case was, it must have been excruciatingly painful.

"It's rude to stare," Adler suddenly exclaimed. It snapped her out of her curiosity.

" _Je suis désolée_ ," she apologized sincerely. "I did not mean to be rude."

"Could've sworn you were lecturing me a few fucking minutes ago," he pointed out, implying that she was a hypocrite.

For some reason, guilt settled into her gut as she took his statement to heart. Her papa had scars and she was confident that her uncle probably had even more, so it was not an appropriate thing for her to have done. Adler did not seem to care too much about it, but in a funny way, she understood that it actually was rude.

" _C'est pas grave_." She was unsure as to whether or not he would understand her. " _À vaincre sans peril, on triomphe sans gloire_."

He didn't respond, smoke gradually being blown out from between his lips as he was deep in thought. He hummed, as though asking an incoherent question.

Eloise knew that deep down, he wanted her to elaborate on what she had said to him and deep down, she wanted him to actually vocalize it to her.

"Stubborn girl. I'll give you that," he observed.

" _Mon père_ would tell me the same thing."

"That means father." It more so came out as a statement rather than a question. He could use his context clues quite well.

" _Oui..."_ she trailed off. "It does."

Her said stubbornness steadily chipped away. "It is a quote _en français._ You cannot win without risks. Sometimes there are... _sacrifices_ one has to make."

Adler was quiet for a moment. "Your old man tell you that?"

And that was followed by her own silence.

"Yes."

"Wise man." Another drag of the cigarette. "Russian and French, huh?"

She nearly froze in her steps at the unwanted turn the conversation began to make and she regretted not cutting it short at the mention of her papa.

Adler was one to preach about professionalism and he stressed avoiding personal questions, and yet, here he was trying to get personal with analyzing her family's background. Bell had said that Russian refugees were not unheard of, but the man had made it seem as though it was the most peculiar phenomena right in front of her. She knew that Adler knew it wasn't all that odd, but he wanted a way to find out about things that were _not_ in her file- her quote unquote secrets.

_Innocence was what she was best at._

"Is it not obvious _monsieur_? _Je m'appelle_ Eloise Vasiliev. It is in _mon nom, non_?"

"Right," he drawled out. "Whatever you say, kid."

_Kid._ She scoffed at the condescending term and they continued on wordlessly.

Horrifyingly enough, a loose napkin slipped from under her shirt and Adler immediately stopped in his tracks as it was cruelly trapped underneath his shoe- the same way they had met. The color drained from her face as she saw him stoop down and pick it up between his fingers. _Merde..._

However, she did not expect him to simply hand it back to her without so much of a glance. He did not even bother reading the Russian poem much to her astonishment. Eloise gaped at the napkin extended out to her and made no move to actually grab it. His impatience was beginning to show from the presence of frown lines that surrounded his frames and she hurriedly plucked it from his grasps.

Before she could even question his motives, Adler cut in, "You either tell me what you're up to or I'll take care of you myself."

The cock of a gun was what made the reality of the situation dawn on her all at once.

Eloise was so distracted that she hadn't realized he had led her astray to a seemingly vacant area and she frantically took a look around. He requested the _rendezvous_ not only for business, but to corner her in a trap. To give her some sort of a morbid ultimatum.

Her head spun by the sheer abruptness of it all. He had lead her into a setup the entire time and she naively fell for it.

Adler could either kill her and read the documents without her permission or she would 'willingly' confess, on her own accord, in exchange for her life.

" _Fils_ _de pute!"_ Eloise snarled out viciously, but his weapon did not waver from her leg. He was planning to let her bleed out like an animal with her photography work sitting in his pocket. She could no longer hold in that ever growing anger. "How dare you?"

"Let's cut to the chase," he instructed coldly, disregarding the woman's meltdown. "What are you hiding?"

Adler seemed slightly off guard as she began to laugh at the ridiculous nature of the situation- a situation that she never thought she would ever be in. _Oh papa, le américain has un pistolet and it is pointed at moi. Un américain of all people. Can you believe that?_

Cold metal pressed against the middle of her eyes and the sensation was what got her to settle down. She glared up at the man.

" _Pourquoi?_ Why are you doing this?"

"I'm asking the damn questions." His tone was so causal, it was as though he did not have a gun to her head. "Do you work for Perseus?"

_He thinks I'm a..._ "You think _I'm_ one of his spies? _Moi?"_

Eloise nearly flinched as the barrel dug in further into her skull. "Simple yes or no."

The safety clicked off.

"No! _Non_ I'm not!" She spluttered out. "I'm a photographer. Are you out of your mind?"

"What are you hiding?" He pointed the gun to her shirt, as though to ask her about the items he knew she was concealing on her person.

" _La poésie,_ you lunatic!" Eloise shouted. "Poetry!"

Adler clearly did not believe her and she held her hands up in the air as a way of saying _I am not a threat to you._

"I'll prove it to you! _Si'l vous plaît_!"

He did not make a move to stop her as she retrieved the napkin that had flown away from her and warily handed it back to him. Still keeping his weapon trained on her, he accepted it and began to scan the writing.

" _Solynshko, I am sorry I have dimmed your light,"_ he read aloud in Russian. His features curled up at, what he perceived to be, childish and useless poetry. It was like he had _hoped_ she was working against the CIA and was thoroughly disappointed that she wasn't really up to anything that would warrant her being shot.

He was not expecting Eloise to take that as an opportunity for her to unholster her own _pistolet_ and aim it right back at him. He tore his eyes away from the napkin, not at all fazed by her bold move.

"The shade looks good on you." It took her a while to process that he was referring to her lipstick.

" _Ta gueule_!" She snapped. "Fuck you."

He smirked. "Looks like you were hiding something after all."

"I said shut up," she repeated, that time in English. "Or would you rather I say it in _russe_ for you since you seem so fluent."

That was enough for his smirk to wipe off his face and his grip tightened around the handle of the gun.

"Now, _monsieur_. If you put your weapon down, so will I."

"You don't call the shots here," he reminded firmly. "This is my show, Vasiliev."

Despite his words, Adler smoothly tucked away the gun, no longer holding it to her head. That caused her to falter and her own fell to her side in defeat. She would never be able to kill _le américain_ , especially when he was leading an operation so important. Eloise would be suspect _numéro_ _un_ within a few minutes and she knew better than to think he was not also aware of that.

He held the napkin back out to her. "Put your lipstick on it."

" _Excusez moi?"_

"I won't be repeating myself. You tell anyone about this and I'll be showing the DST your contraband with the lipstick stains to prove it."

"Fuck you," she repeated. He really did plan all of that out, _rogue_ and all.

"Heard you the first time, kid." Eloise nearly snatched the poem out of his hands and the look she gave him could have killed him on the spot.

The French woman held their eye contact as she pressed a kiss to the napkin, Adler watching her the entire time as she had done so. When she lifted her head back up, there was a bold imprint of her lips below the line _Solynshko I am sorry I have dimmed your light_ \- the line the man in front of her had read out loud.

"I'll be holding on to-"

" _Non_!" Eloise immediately refused. "It is sentimental to me."

"You almost sold me there," he responded mockingly. It seemed that the justification of 'sentimental' had angered him more than anything else. _Keep it professional_ he had said. "Hand it over, Vasiliev."

Even when Adler had a gun up to her head, the threat of death right under nose, Eloise had not shed a single tear. However, the idea of parting with even one piece of her _dyadya_ could have made her bawl on the spot. _Mon oncle_...

She took one long, last glance of the napkin in an attempt to commit it to memory. Eloise should've refused to meet with him. She should've never showed up at the safe house and the regret was practically eating her up alive.

"Will you give it back to me?"

"You seem awfully protective over a fucking napkin."

Eloise clenched her mouth together to refrain from providing more information than she needed to and figured it would be better to rip the bandaid off in one go. She handed over the napkin, one last final time, and her eyes burned as she watched him place it in the front pocket of his jacket.

He had dirt on her and she had dirt on him.

" _De rien_." She bit out sarcastically. "You are a monster."

"Tell me something I don't know."

The zippo clanked open as he lit another cigarette and she wished the flames would've ate him alive on the spot. Eloise watched as he smoked his second tobacco stick with utter disgust- who knew someone so _beau_ could be so ugly.

Eloise was unsure where her loss of control derived from, but she couldn't help but make one last threat- a promise.

"If you don't give me that back whenever this ends, I will kill you Adler."

The cruel words that tumbled out of her mouth did not bother him. In fact, he seemed completely unperturbed- like no one had just threatened to take his life.

Perhaps he hadn't heard her the first time?

" _Je te tue."_

" I believe that Eloise." Adler dropped the butt of his cigarette down onto the ground, crushing the light with his shoe. _Solnyshko I am sorry I have dimmed your light_.

"And if I catch you out of line again, I'll kill you Vasiliev."


	12. soviet union / subtle distrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to do TWO UPDATES in one chapter! i realized i strayed from my initial style of writing and i would like to go back to that in future updates so it may take a while to put out. so here is a longer chapter for you all. 
> 
> it was fun writing these chapters (-: ENJOY <3

_ February 27th, 1981 _

The paper Adler had intentionally slipped into her coat were actually plural- _papers_. It would explain why he had reacted so harshly to her careless handling of the documents at the bar a few days prior. Falsified passports and documents did not come by so cheap or easy in the CIA and she definitely showed him that she had a habit of letting important things slip from her possession.

It seemed that the two came to a mutual consensus regarding one another; avoidance was the best plausible option if they wanted to continue working in the same team. Eloise was no longer afraid of Adler and he certainly was never afraid of her to begin with, but she could bet that he deep down felt threatened by her camera. _Your camera is a weapon, Vasiliev._

Perhaps his frustrations that he hadn't found the photo she took back at the office in the camera she handed over was getting to him. Adler was a man who wanted to seem collected and reserved- someone who made no indication as to what was irking him so that everyone around him was kept on their toes. Kept in check. It was the only reason why he changed his mind and requested her for the next mission.

Now, Eloise was unbothered by the events that took place on the 25th of _février,_ especially given the fact she was granted a passport that day. A _Soviet_ passport. _Oui_ , it was not a real passport by any means and was most likely forged by the Central Intelligence Association, but it was still surreal to open up and read.

The team were in the USSR, however, the mission at hand really only required that Bell and Adler travel to the actual Soviet base they have planned to infiltrate. The rest of them were expected to fulfill their own roles at the temporary safe house, located in the rural side of the Soviet Republic of Ukraine.

The location was definitely much more homey in comparison to the West Berlin warehouse and Eloise appreciated the spaciousness that came along with it. Perhaps if she thought hard enough, she could imagine that _she_ was the only one there and find a way to block out the rest of the team.

"If every safe house I've been in looked like this, I'd forget about a raise," Lazar breathed out. It seemed Eloise was not the only one appreciative of the house. "It's even got a fridge."

"Man, forget the fridge." Sims marveled at the security system set up in the sitting room. "Hudson never mentioned the place would be all decked out like this."

Eloise wordlessly entered the restrooms that very clearly had the door removed from its hinges as it was repurposed to serve as a darkroom. She gently dropped the bag of her supplies and film onto the white tiled floors, setting a mental reminder to return to the room for work later on.

"Eloise," Sims called out from the hall. "Wanna call dibs on a room before the rest of the crew get here?"

She was somewhat enjoying the two men's _joie_ at the safe house. It was a breath of fresh air when everyday was just bad news stacked up onto more bad news. " _Non, merci mon ami."_

"And I'm gonna assume that's French for no."

The young woman heard the staircases creak under the man's boots as he went up to the second level to check out the place more, slightly shaking her head in amusement. It was an upgrade though and she was sure Jason Hudson's expected presence was enough of a reason as to why that was the case. He seemed _sophistiqué._

"You know how to cook up any French cuisines?" Agent Azoulay asked, rubbing his stomach.

Eloise nearly toppled over with laughter at the ridiculous question, but sobered up when she had realized Lazar was being completely serious. " _Cuisine française_? _Bien sûr_!"

"And I'm hoping that's French for yes."

"Of course I know." Eloise paused in thought, moving to open the fridge with anticipation. " _La question_ that is better is what are the ingredients that we can work with."

What they found certainly dampened the mood they were trying to build up as they were greeted with the sight of water containers. Just water.

" _Putain_ ," Eloise cursed dejectedly. " _Désolée_ , Lazar."

"No big deal," he shrugged. "Wonder if the Soviets deliver takeout."

It was highly unlikely that they would, especially given the fact they were quite literally in the middle of no where, but she did not want to vocalize that and sour his mood. She wordlessly nodded her head and went over to the front door to peer through the blinds wondering if the others arrived. As she had expected, another car pulled in meaning the rest of the crew were here.

Eloise eventually opened the door, Adler wordlessly walking past her to enter as though she wasn't even there. She honestly preferred it that way. The less she had to speak with him, the better off she would be.

"Glad to see you all made it in one piece," Park observed, carrying her equipment into the safe house.

" _Bonjour,"_ Eloise greeted and the woman nodded in return as she followed inside.

When she turned back around to address Bell, the French woman instantly frowned as she realized he was seemingly frozen in place. Eloise figured he was merely enjoying the weather outside, but when she called out his name to ask about their journey, she was only met with his silence.

She chose to tentatively approach the man who was staring down intensely at his shoes. "Bell?"

He was unresponsive, still as a statue. He wasn't even blinking and the sight was definitely startling. She had never seen anyone look like that ever before, so she was unsure of what to do. Eloise eventually reached an arm out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but quickly retracted her touch as he abruptly flinched- like the tips of her fingers were scorching flames. Bell examined the area and only then seemed to realize her presence.

" _Privyet_ ," he greeted, but she was lost as to what an appropriate response would be after what had just happened. He was acting like nothing strange occurred.

" _Ça va,_ Bell?" She questioned out of concern. "You seemed...out of it."

He wore a frown of his own after she vocalized what she witnessed. " _Da_. I am okay. Why?"

Eloise thought back to the moment of when she had stared at Adler's scars far longer than she should have and that similar guilt washed over her. Sims, Adler, and Bell all obviously had seen more than they should have during their bloody time in Vietnam and it would do more harm than good if she pestered them about the aftermaths of their trauma.

"Never mind," she brushed off. "You should get inside to prepare for your mission, _mon ami."_

Eloise was almost tempted to help guide him through the front door, but again, did not want to overstep any boundaries by coddling him. Now it was her turn to stay rooted in place as she watched Bell enter their temporary safe house. It was as though her internal dialogue seemed to be saying the same thing over and over again every time she was near Bell-

 _Très étrange_...

-

"You sure you're not going to finish that?" Lazar questioned as she picked at the untouched slice of pizza in front of her with a fork. Eloise was never a fan of the greasy foods that Lazar seemed to crave every hour of the day.

It were times like those where she definitely missed Paris and was reminded of the sacrifices of comfort she had made to get to where she was. Eloise sighed, watching as grease began to stain the napkin and her appetite had shrunk at the sight. She grimaced as she slid the pizza over to Lazar's eager hands and excused herself. Playing with her food was not something she was keen on continuing.

"Where you headed?" Sims questioned, taking a sip of water.

" _Pardon moi_. I need a cigarette."

"I might join you later," he responded. "Might as well get a good smoke in before this big infiltration."

"You talk about it like you're the one who's actually going," Agent Azoulay sarcastically pointed out.

Sims raised an eyebrow in faux offense. "Comms is sure as shit not an easy walk in the park."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Lawrence on this matter," Helen cut in over the rim of her teacup as she was mapping out all possible escape routes for the upcoming mission. "It is a fairly intense role to fulfill."

Eloise's head had begun to throb, whether it be from the aroma of pizza or the petty argument it did not matter, and she once more excused herself from the group. She grabbed her camera and her lighter on the way out, leaving the door the slightest bit cracked open just incase anything were to happen outside.

The lit cigarette was perched in between her lips as she began to fiddle with her camera and looked through the lens with one eye to readjust the blurred focus. The sunrise was _très belle_ and she had to stop herself from taking more pictures to fully appreciate the sight in front of her. Eloise could not help but take a deep breath of the fresh air, briefly shutting her eyes in hopes of mentally capturing the serene moment- a moment that never seemed to come in an abundance. The young woman shook herself out of her daze and continued to take photos of the scenery.

The grass was so green and tall enough to brush up against your ankles. The sun was not unbearable. The field made you _feel_ free. Eloise did not want to face the house behind her, because it would remind her of her roles, her duties, and the demands of superiors that seemed to restrain her in a chokehold. If she somehow saw the end of all of this, Eloise figured she could actually see herself moving away to a similar place and it wouldn't make a difference if it just so happened to be in France or America. Open and free. _Belle_.

Gradually, she dropped her arms to her sides and realized how much her uncle would appreciate residing in an area like this. Gulags were not known for their big windows or infamously fresh air or even the fruitful opportunities of going outside. A man so poetic like her _dyadya_ would surely adore getting a nice patio and a nice view of nature that came with one.

"I promise _, dyadya,"_ she whispered to herself. "I will find you. _Promis."_

" _Dyadya_?" Bell questioned from over her shoulder. She was not startled by his presence, because peace and quiet was just too good to be true working under Adler. However, she did not entirely mind Bell's company- in fact, it served as a window of opportunity to be alone with him. It was time that Eloise became more direct with her search.

" _Da_ ," she confirmed in Russia. " _Moy dyadya_."   
He did not say anything, most likely due to the fact he did not actually know _what_ to say to that. She had an internal conflict at that moment- confide in Bell and get answers or continue to dodge personal details for discretion's sakes. "My uncle was imprisoned for being a writer." She had chosen the first option.

"I see," was his cryptic reaction.

"You have worked in the KGB, _nyet_?" Eloise asked carefully, scanning his face in order to gauge his reaction. "Is my last name familiar to you, Bell? Anything that comes to mind? Possibly from a file or an overheard conversation?"

" _Nyet_." As soon as she had finished asking the question, he had given her his final answer. Her lips parted at the lack of hesitance and how it seemingly took him no thought to confirm that he knew absolutely nothing. Surprisingly, Bell could sense her disheartenment. " _Prastee_ ," he apologized. "The name _Vasiliev_ is not one I've ever heard."

" _Non,_ it is okay Bell." In a way it wasn't okay, because she had told him something extremely personal for seemingly nothing. " _Merci_ for at least trying, _mon ami."_

"Have you asked Adler?"

Eloise nearly dropped her cigarette and bursted out in laughter at the absurd suggestion. When she realized Bell was being completely serious, she frowned up at him.

" _Pourquoi?_ Why would _le américain_ know anything about my uncle?" With the way Bell was staring at her, one would be inclined to believe the answer was supposed to be blatantly obvious.

"Adler knows everything." She was rattled and slightly perturbed by the statement. "I trust him and I trust Sims. We've been through everything together in Vietnam." And there was that familiar pained look Bell had while recalling his time overseas during the war. "Adler is someone you can trust with your life."

The statement was almost comical as she remembered the man in question pointing a gun to her head not even two days ago- trust him with her life when he had previously threatened to take it, dare she say eagerly, without even batting an eye. However, Eloise did not want to cause a wedge in the team or stir up more unnecessary trouble than she already has and chose to remain silent.

"I'll think about it," was all she could muster out. Eloise was astounded by Bell's praiseful views of the ruthlessly cold CIA agent and wondered what caused the man to become so horribly dreadful. Were they even referring to the same man? So _grossier._ Bell spoke of him as though it were a completely different version of Adler from a completely different past life.

The two looked towards the abrupt sound of an approaching vehicle that looked unfamiliar to them and she could sense Bell tense. They both reached towards their weapons, but much to Eloise's displeasure, Adler stopped them before they could take their guns out. _He had been eavesdropping..._

"Stand down," he coolly ordered as he walked past them. Only when the driver had gotten out of _la voiture_ was Eloise able to recognize who the person was. _Sunglasses_. _Leather jacket. No hair._

"Hudson," Adler curtly greeted. The two Americans had begun to engage in a serious conversation and, at one point, Jason Hudson had glared over at Bell and Eloise through his shades. Next thing she knew, Hudson reluctantly handed over the set of car keys into Adler's eager possession. Once unlocking the doors, he faced the two younger accomplices.

"Get your stuff, Bell," Adler instructed, arm resting on the roof of the car. "We've got a job to do."

The young woman took that as the team's cue to depart to the Soviet base and she turned to bid Bell farewell. " _Au revoir, mon ami,"_ she said. " _Bonne chance."_

Despite the fact she had kindly wished him luck, Bell did not seem to care for the words and the sudden change in demeanor did not sit well with her and she couldn't help the flood of insecurity. He was almost _cold_. Just a few minutes ago, he did not mind Eloise's presence, but now he was ignoring her altogether. She wondered if she had said anything wrong to put him off and watched as he silently gathered his belongings and headed to the car.

While her questioning glance trailed after Bell, her eyes eventually met with Adler's and his grim scowl alarmed her- _don't get out of line._

Eloise could not stop looking at the pair, even when Adler backed up and drove off into the distance. She had so many unanswered questions, but oddly enough, her head felt so empty at the same time.

It wasn't until Jason Hudson incoherently grumbled something under his breath that she snapped out of her state of bewilderment. She offered the man an awkward smile, but he did not reciprocate. In fact, it had seemed to piss him off even more than he already was.

"Find something to do," he gruffly instructed.

She perked an eyebrow. " _Monsieur_ , I am waiting for _les photos_ of your Red Circus suspects to finish developing."

"Then find something else to do," Hudson cut in and Eloise was taken aback by his rude mannerisms.

The way he had spoken to her like a teacher would to a delinquent child rubbed her the wrong way and with the talk _avec_ Adler still sitting in the back of her mind, her frustrations grew. "I would appreciate if you did not speak to me that way, _si'l vous plaît_."

"I don't know what these people made you believe, but you're in no position to be making demands," he huffed, his lip curling up. "I suggest you go back inside."

Her jaw tensed and that point was where her outspokenness ended, nodding her head and doing exactly as he instructed. Like a delinquent child who had just been scolded by their teacher.

-

Eloise carefully unclipped the photo she had snapped of Leslie Sinclair, or should she say _Strong Man_ , a few nights ago. The illuminating red light of the bathroom created a sense of nostalgia that reminded her of her previous hideouts in East Berlin and Italy. She was unsure as to whether or not she preferred the loneliness of those travels or her current situation with the CIA. It seemed as though her long durations of solitude had been something she grew accustomed to- grew to like, even- because Eloise slightly _missed_ those days.

She blew a loose hair away from her face as her hands were preoccupied with unclipping both her and Bell's photography from the line, wondering how _l'homme russe_ and Adler were fairing. Hours had passed since the morning they left for the mission and no one really knew how long they would be absent.

Too curious for her own good, she would catch Hudson vaguely mentioning two other American men that would be meeting with her teammates from outside her place in the bathroom. Eloise hummed an old French tune to play off the eavesdropping, in hopes that he would continue explaining the situation to Helen Park. However, much to her disappointment, he did not reveal much further than that.

At one point, Agent Azoulay and Jason Hudson had left the Soviet safe house. For what reason, she also did not know.

Park was still busy with monitoring for any notable radio transmissions from the Soviets, every now and then communicating with the agents over the headset. Everything seemed to be going quite smoothly from what little Eloise was able to hear.   
Unfortunately, that consistent workflow came crumbling down when Park had begun to raise her voice.

"Bloody wankers!" She shouted.

Eloise did a double take at the furious tone in her voice- something that was slightly out of character for the British woman who always seemed to be incredibly composed. The young woman stopped taking her notes and carefully peered at the MI6 agent from around the corner, waiting to hear anything that would provide any context for the outburst.

Park exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose and scrunching her eyes shut, clearly out of frustration.

Sims also seemed to have heard the commotion and became concerned enough to get up as he walked down the stairs, sharing a questioning glance with Eloise. She shrugged, _I don't know either. Je ne sais pas._

"You good, Park?" Sims asked.

She exhaled again. "Woods and Bell have run into trouble. I'm picking up on a terrible amount of communication lines deriving from the base's security. It is safe to assume they've compromised their positions."

"Shit," Sims breathed out, equally as worried and Eloise emerged from her corner when realizing the severity of the situation. "And Adler?"

Park shook her head. "It would be too risky for him to locate Bell. I've directed he and Mason retreat to a nearby location and wait for the time being. That is, if Woods and Bell somehow manage to escape. Their top priority as of right now is finding an exit."

"And if I had to make a guess, I'd bet it isn't that simple." He paused, thinking about the predicament. "Damn. Spetsnaz are probably crawling all over the fucking place."

"That very well might be the case from what Sergeant Woods has informed me. He mentioned other matters, as well." Park's eyes carefully fleeted towards Eloise. "Though, I am afraid that information is very much classified."

She knew that Helen was implying that she was not allowed to know about the said classified intel and folded her arms over her chest out of annoyance., like she was trying to physically restrain herself from saying anything too brash. It wouldn't be ideal to make more enemies around here, so she wisely kept her mouth closed.

" _Park_ ," Adler's voice sounded out from the radio and the woman hurriedly made it known she had heard him. He sounded very concerned and Sims and Eloise shared another look. " _I heard commotion coming from the base_ ," he continued and Eloise did not miss the _we_ part, assuming he was with the other American. Park quickly went to work in trying to get in touch with the others.

"Woods? Bell?" Sims and the French woman leaned over Park's shoulder and waited in baited breath. "What's your status?"

" _Gather everyone, Park. The whole team_ ," a gruff voice radioed in. It didn't sound anything like Bell, meaning it was obviously this _Woods_. " _Hudson's got a shit ton of explaining to do_." There were gunshots firing in the background and Park tried to get answers as to whether or not they managed to find an exit, however, she was only met with silence on the other end.

"Eloise." Helen handed a phone to her over her shoulder. "Ring Hudson. Inform him that Sergeant Woods has called for a meeting while I explain the situation to Adler."

She apprehensively accepted it. " _Oui_ , _mademoiselle_."

Eloise took the opportunity to go outside, not only for better antenna reception, but also to take a much needed break from the stuffy "dark room". She memorized the phone number scrawled onto the notepad and quickly dialed it in, lifting the phone up to her ear.

It took a while for the CIA agent to actually accept the call.

"Hudson." What a terribly dry greeting. _Non bonjour?_

" _Bonjour_ , _Monsieur Hudson. C'est Vasiliev-"_

"Get to the point," he rudely interrupted and she had half a mind to glare at the phone itself. _Les américains_ really had no phone étiquettes. "Agent Azoulay and I are busy."

"Well, _monsieur_ -" there was a sarcastic quip to the formal title. "-Park has instructed me to inform you that _Monsieur Woods_ would like to speak with you here."

There was a scoff. "I will be returning. There was no need to interrupt a mission to inform me about Sergeant Woods. I will speak with him when I see him." His discourteous dialogue was somehow even worse than Adler's and Eloise felt the urge to be petty.

" _D'accord, mais_ I would like to warn you _monsieur_ , out of the kindness of _mon cœur_ that Woods did not sound happy," she explained in a faux innocent tone. "I think you are in trouble."

Hudson made a sound to say something, but she hurriedly made it known that she was done with the unpleasant conversation.

" _Bonne chance_. _À bientôt_." With that, she hung up.

** -SUBTLE DISTRUST - a few hours later **

"Hey. Pass me that cleaning rod."

Eloise perked an eyebrow from her place on the kitchen stool as Lawrence Sims was attempting to maintain the rifles. The lack of a cleaning rod in his extended hand caused him to look up at her only to find that her face remained passive. She had heard him loud and clear. Sims eventually rolled his eyes at what the young woman was silently trying to get across.

"Seriously?" He watched her as she was unmoved. A tired huff of defeat came from his mouth . " _Please_."

Eloise smirked triumphantly and grabbed the requested tool.

" _Bien sûr, mon ami_."

Before Sims could return to working on the rifle in his hands, a car door slamming from outside had interrupted the casual atmosphere and perked their interests. Eloise made a move to get up from her stool to find out who it could have been, but the man gestured for her to remain seated with a finger up to his lips. He did not leave without grabbing his _pistolet_ on the way out.

She frowned as she watched him disappear down into the hallway to make his way to the front door and she slowly unholstered her own gun just incase. They could never be too prepared for the worst case scenario.

"Sims? _Monsieur?"_ Eloise called out nervously. The house was eerily silent and then, fortunately, a loud sigh of relief. The entrance was opened and then shut, followed by heavy footsteps.

There, in the doorway, was Bell. But _only_ Bell.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Sims chuckled while going back to his previous task. "Adler mention running errands to you?"

Eloise became interested as well upon noticing that the said man was no where in sight. Given the fact not even Sims knew of his whereabouts, her curiosity heightened. However, she was certainly not complaining and preferred that Adler stay out as long as possible.

" _Nyet."_ Was the only response they got and the Russian proceeded to stand there in an uncomfortably stiff manner. Sims did not seem too wary of his odd behavior, whistling away casually as he cleaned the gun.

However, when he had briefly peered over at Eloise's quizzical expression towards Bell, Sims straightened in his seat. He knew he had to find a way to get her to back off.

"Say, Bell. Why don't you join us?"

That snapped him out of his frigidness and he quietly walked over to sit at the table with them. His eyes met those of Eloise's, something that also did not go past Lawrence Sims radar. He side eyed the two suspiciously as he reassembled some parts of the gun and shifted uncomfortably in his own seat.

"Heard you got tied up back at that Soviet base," Sims brought up. He was hoping to ease any suspicion coming from the French spy or to at least distract her from conjuring up any observations with some small talk.

Bell nodded, but carried on to carefully unzip the duffel in his lap. He swiftly pulled out some undeveloped film packed in a clear plastic baggie and slid it across the table to Eloise.

"I took photos," Bell explained flatly.

She held the bag up to the light, and sure enough, there were rolls of photographs just waiting to see their next home in the dark room. " _Très bien_ , Bell."

The man said nothing to the appraisal, as she expected, but still not quite the response she had wanted. Sims seemed to give her a judgmental once over at the sudden excitement in her voice as she continued to look up in awe at the evidence. "Lazar and food. Vasiliev and photographs," he mused. "Don't even get me started on Bell and computers."

She frowned. " _Ça_ _va_? Have you heard yourself when you stumble on a tool box, _monsieur_?"

He feigned offense, putting down the rifle he had finished cleaning.

"I don't know about you, but I don't really fall out of my seat over a damn hammer," Sims exclaimed. "You ever see Lazar look at a burger? Now _that_ is something." There was a sudden pause and a mischievous glint had shone in Sims's eyes. "I take that back. When he looks at Park, _that's_ a damn different story."

Eloise rolled her eyes at the childish remark and Bell seemed to be in a different world of his own, not paying any mind to the immature conversation. "Helen Park _est une femme très belle_ ," she complimented, crossing her arms. "He would be an idiot not to look at her in that way. I'm sure you felt the same when you first laid eyes on her."

Sims scoffed, grimacing at the baseless assumption , as though she had just said the most outrageous thing she could possibly say- perhaps even the most off putting.

"Who? Park? **Hell no**." He leaned back in his seat and pulled out a black leather wallet. "Besides, I already got a girl waiting for me back home."

Eloise eagerly accepted the small photo that Sims passed along to her, slightly torn around the edges due to old age and her lips twitched in a smile as she studied the beaming _femme_. His _amoureuse_ was also an equally beautiful woman. " _Très belle_ , Lawrence," she praised, studying the picture warmly. "What is her name?"

"Alicia." There was a look of content, most likely due to recalling memories with the said woman. He bore a small, nostalgic grin. "When I get back, I might just put a ring on her finger."

"That is lovely. _Bonne chance._ "

"I'm gonna need it. She's something else," he laughed, but quickly sobered up when noticing the careful look Eloise was sending in Bell's direction once again. Bell had a troubled and confused expression, staring intently at the wooden table in front of him. No doubt did the French spy want to move and question Bell now about _his_ personal life.

For once, Sims really wished Adler was there to kill the mood.

Sims leaned over and plucked the photo from between Eloise's fingers, putting the item back in its original place. However, much to his disappointment, that did not stop Eloise from addressing the other man.

" _Et toi,_ Bell?" She asked out of innocent curiosity, leaning forward to recapture his attention. "Do you have an _amoureuse_ waiting for you somewhere?"

"Come on now," Lawrence diverted as Bell's frown deepened, presumably struggling to come up with an answer. "I'm beginning to think _you're_ the spy on a mission now. What about you? You got some French guy back in Paris?"

Eloise scowled. "I was just asking. _Et non_ I don't. I'm a busy woman." _Busy because I have been taking care of my ill papa all my life without ma mère and now my time has been spent looking for mon oncle who is missing._

Before Sims could respond with a shred of amusement or perhaps to pester her further, the sound of the front door opening got them on high alert. Even Bell seemed to fully wake up from his thoughts and twisted around in his seat, eyes dark like an animal on the prowl as they honed in on the hallway.

Their shoulders all shagged down as it was merely Agent Azoulay who had stepped in. Nonetheless, almost immediately, Eloise tensed back up as she realized he wasn't entirely alone. Not only was there Jason Hudson, but, sandwiched between them was a bludgeoned man with duct tape tightly placed across his lips as well.

Eloise quickly scrambled up from her seat, eyes widening out of sheer horror as the blood rapidly dripped from the stranger's nose onto the wooden floor like a broken faucet. She held back the immediate questions that came rushing to mind as she had not been anticipating such a bizarre entrance. As for Sims and Bell, their unvexed reactions to the situation were as though it was an everyday occurrence in the office.

" _Oh mon Dieu,"_ she muttered and the disgust in her voice was unfortunately picked up by Hudson.

"I highly suggest you settle down, agent." He shot her a look, shoving the prisoner onto the wooden floors. Eloise winced at the dehumanizing and rough treatment unfolding in the house. She had been on plenty of missions before and she was even required to neutralize targets from time to time, but never _torture. Never like this._ "This is Jim Kreeger," Hudson sneered at the keeling figure. "Though I'm sure you're more familiar with the alias _Juggler_. Isn't that right, Jim?"

Jim Kreeger was one of the Red Circus suspects. Eloise should have known at first glance, but his face was so disfigured- drenched in sweat, blood, and dirt- that she could barely recognize the man. Coincidentally enough, it was one of the last photos she had developed in the bathroom and that still hadn't helped.

"Find a place for the son of a bitch," Hudson instructed, mainly to Lawrence Sims.

"On it." Sims's chair screeched as it was pushed back and he roughly pulled on the bound man's collar to drag him out back- presumably to the shed. Kreeger let out a painful groan and Eloise was unable to tear her eyes away from the disturbing scene. "Lend me a hand, Bell."

You always had to be kept on your toes in this line of work. One minute you were lightheartedly conversing at a kitchen table and the next you were dealing with a half-dead hostage in the middle of the room. The escalating turn of events made her head spin.

"I'll be waiting outside for the rest," the CIA agent informed emotionlessly, as though there hadn't been a prisoner at his feet just a few minutes prior. "Try not to call for me."

Eloise angrily gripped the edge of the table in front of her, hesitantly looking out the kitchen window just in time to see the two men throw Kreeger into the shed. She whipped around to the abrupt sound of a soda can opening, Lazar's Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down the fizzy drink greedily.

"Want one?"

Her mouth gaped open at the absurd timing of his casual offer. Her glance was immediately drawn to his busted knuckles wrapped around the can and she realized Agent Azoulay had participated in beating the man to a bloody pulp. He had swung at Kreeger so hard that he ended up wounding himself in the process and she grimaced at the image that came to mind.

"Was beating him necessary?" Eloise questioned and Lazar seemed to recoil at the level of concern in her tone. He was almost in disbelief at which " _him"_ she was referring to.

"We're one step closer to getting Rudnik now. You tell me," he answered defensively, then gave her a once over. "Never took you for the hippy type." There was an accusatory approach that Lazar was taking with her- heavily implying she was hypocritical for caring about the man, especially given what happened at the train station back in East Berlin. She had shot an officer without so much of a thought. Even shoved his lifeless body onto the train tracks.

"That was different," Eloise exclaimed, just as defensive, and the man merely took another sip of his soda.

The situation at hand felt oddly personal to her. Prisoners were always a touchy subject for the French woman given her family's background. If Kreeger failed to comply, they could have just neutralized him quick and fast. It would have been an act of mercy. He was merely a puppet in the large scheme of things. A mere tool for Perseus and his cronies. Did he deserve to be bludgeoned? _Non._ She sighed, knowing that no one would ever share that sentiment. Saying anything along the lines of that would garner the accusations of being a Red.

" _Non, désolée,"_ She retracted. "You are right, _mon ami_." Lazar was obviously unconvinced, but before he could open his mouth for a rebuttal, Park's footsteps echoed from the staircase.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece," the British woman mused. Her grin slowly disappeared as she sensed a bit of tension between the two, especially given the fact Eloise's fingers were turning white from her increasingly tight grip of the table. "Haven't interrupted a scrap, have I?"

"Not at all, _mademoiselle."_ Eloise's smile did not quite reach her eyes. The downside to working with spies was that _nothing_ went past them. _Nothing_. " _Pardon moi_ , I am going to check on _Monsieur_ Hudson _."_ Did she really want to join the CIA agent outside? No. Was she truly concerned about _le américain_? Not at all. Did Eloise want to escape Lazar's judgmental eyes and Park's questioning look? _Oui._

Eloise could practically feel their lingering stares as she walked down the hallway and tried her best to push the whole situation to the side as she reached the front door. Perhaps Jason Hudson had answers as to why he felt the need to torture Kreeger, because she failed to recall whether or not torture was actually _legal_ for the CIA to do.

Right as her hand wrapped around the doorknob, she let out a frightened gasp when the door was opened roughly at the same time.

Eloise retracted her arm, frozen like a deer in the headlights as she was met with Adler's unpleasant scowl. She would have concluded that he was not too happy to see her, but it seemed he had already been in a bitter mood prior to opening the door. The young woman pressed her back against the opened door as Adler ungraciously pushed his way inside without even acknowledging her. She remained where she was to give their new ' _guests'_ plenty of room to enter as well.

Two unfamiliar men followed the older man's trail, but unlike Adler, they definitely had taken their precious time in acknowledging her presence.

One tipped his head in a polite manner, however, his roaming eyes took away from the courteous act of recognition. Admittedly, that alone was not nearly enough to piss her off. On the other hand, she could not say the same for his companion. The darker haired man was not at all subtle with his approach, going as far as to rotate his head around to maintain their eye contact when silently brushing past her.

Eloise's poker face did not put the stranger off as he lazily smirked at her before entering the kitchen.

_Cochons..._

In her state of fluster, she would have shut the door had she not remembered Jason Hudson was no where in sight. Of course, when poking her head around the corner to search outside for _le américain_ , she found him, but what she did not expect to see was the man sporting a bloody nose that she knew was not there earlier. There was something terribly pleasant and ironic about the unanticipated sight. Regardless, she still felt somewhat bad for him.

" _Ça va,_ Hudson? You are hurt..." Eloise approached him as he aggressively wiped away at his nose and she grimaced as the fresh blood stained his skin. He held up a palm towards her, as though to tell her to stop walking towards him and she instantly halted.

"This is none of your concern, Vasiliev. Go back inside."

It took no time for her to piece together the big picture of the situation. The only way Hudson would have gotten such an injury was if it came from one of the three men who entered the safe house. It would certainly explain why Adler had seemed so angry. Eloise sighed. "I would like to help you."

"I don't recall asking for it." He cursed under his breath, both from the stubborn French girl and the throbbing pain.

She stood there for a few moments, studying the man with scrutiny. She realized he wasn't as intimidating as she initially thought- realized why these men wore sunglasses all hours of the day. Why these men were cold and lacked any sense of manners. Jason Hudson looked beaten down, both literally and metaphorically, and showing that was considered a vulnerability, no matter how subtle the cracks happened to be. He did not want her to see those vulnerabilities, subtle or obvious- it was why he wanted her to go back inside and leave him be.

He, too, did not trust Eloise.


	13. alex mason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo hope everyone is doing okay (-: thank you for still reading/ being a new addition to Eloise's journey!

Eloise stared up at the ceiling as she laid on the makeshift mattress after tossing and turning every so often, no longer desiring to chase any sleep. How could she rest with both eyes closed knowing that she shared the same roof with people like Jason Hudson and Adler. How could anyone sleep peacefully knowing one of them had helped orchestrate a lethal nuke program that could destroy all of Europe- her home- and was now in Perseus's hands? _Les américains..._ the people who were supposed to be their allies had betrayed them and Eloise felt trapped knowing she would be unable to alert France of _Greenlight_. That damned contract...

She would not be able to sleep in the same building as Jason Hudson.

Eloise sluggishly got up from the poor excuse of a bed, thin blankets sliding off of her body as she left the floor only for her skin to be greeted with the coldness of the room.

The spare moonlight casted through the window curtains helped her maneuver her way around without stumbling in the dark. She threw on a warm coat that swallowed her frame, reveling back into her body's natural insulation. Perhaps a greasy pizza would help wear her down as she could hear Lazar's bearish snores from the other side of paper thin walls.

As quietly as she possibly could, she creaked open her door and begun tip toeing down the stairs. Halfway down, she had to stop as a particular step let out a loud whine under the pressure of her feet and she took a cautionary glance around to ensure no one woke up. There was only silence.

Eloise made quick work of going the rest of the way down and let out a soft sigh of relief when realizing she hadn't been caught yet. It more than likely would be the only time she could truly enjoy some time alone before everyone else got up . They intended to leave the U.S.S.R to return back to West Berlin at 5 in the morning, which meant she only had an hour or so left.

The young woman mentally cursed as she made out the silhouette of a still figure sprawled out on the couch. It was hard to make out who the person was, so she carefully leaned in to identify the man and realized it was Jason Hudson. Her eyes widened at the unintentional display of vulnerability in front of her and the consequences of what would happen if she was caught watching him sleep came to mind. The sooner she ate, the sooner she could get out of the unflattering situation. Looks like a cold pizza would have to do.

Before she could open up the leftovers, Eloise picked up on quiet murmurings coming from outside and she took a peak at Hudson who was sound asleep. Surely the CIA agent was not a light sleeper, but clearly the talking was not loud enough to stir him as he remained still.

The voice was unfamiliar and she could distinguish that they belonged to a single man. Eloise disregarded the food and the turn of events made her forget why she had come down in the first place. She gently picked up _le_ sleeping American's _pistolet_ as she moved closer to the direction of the new sounds. Perhaps someone from the Soviet base had managed to follow them to their safe house without their knowledge, the thought of an intruder freezing her blood over.

She eventually traced the noise to the front yard, bare feet tentatively guiding her to the door as she raised the gun out in front of her. It was not until she heard the man speaking perfectly clear English did she relax a bit and shakily place the gun to her side.

"Can't say I'm surprised," the voice muttered. "Hudson's got a mean streak when it comes to being a lying son of a bitch."

Eloise frowned at the aggressive statement, but nonetheless, continued to eavesdrop on the conversation waiting for another person to chime in. Strangely enough, that other voice never did and the man continued speaking. _Telephone conversation?_

There was a tired sigh. "No matter how hard I try, they don't _get out of my fucking head!"_

The French woman skillfully opened the front door without so much of a sound, hoping to not alert the person outside. When she glanced around the corner, she was not expecting to find the American man from earlier- the more polite and meek one. What she also was not expecting was the lack of phone in his hands and the way he was speaking to the air as though someone only he could see were standing there.

He was talking to himself.

"I did it though," the stranger mumbled, clearly in a state of distress. "I did it."

She couldn't stop herself from making herself known, guilt creeping up into her head for watching idly and in that moment she did not seem to care for the wind nipping at the bare skin of her legs not covered by her large coat as she stepped outside. Even the icy grass crunching underneath her feet did not alert the man who had been quietly repeating the same mantra over and over again. ' _I did it. I did it_.'

" _Monsieur_?" Eloise stepped closer and that alone seemed to do the trick, immediately snapping him out of his troubling, internal plight. " _Ça va_?"

The man laid a hand on his chest, panting as though he had just finished running a mile, and shut his eyes out of clear exhaustion.

She deduced he had went outside unintentionally as he was not dressed appropriately for the brutally cold weather either. Eloise stayed a good distance away from him, giving him enough space incase he needed it as he rested the back of his head against the house with an exasperated groan. That gave her a perfect view of the sweat glistening on his forehead and the sweat that stained the collar of his shirt, despite the low temperatures. Eloise remained motionless, unsure if he would react to her the same hostile way Jason Hudson had earlier.

When the man finally opened his eyes back up, Eloise was not expecting to see the grateful, yet embarrassed, look on his face as he regarded her. "I'm sorry."

The apology sounded so broken and pitiful- like a man who felt as though he had just lost all of his dignity. Her frown only deepened. "Why are you apologizing?" She asked as she carefully took a few steps closer to him. "You are not going to refuse my help like _Monsieur_ Hudson, _d'accord_?"

"Okay..." She could tell he also wanted to decline, but as he looked back to the area he was previously speaking towards, he seemed to think the better of it. "Okay."

As she wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that he could place some weight on her, she felt the shame practically oozing out of him and shook her head. If she were to ever locate her uncle, she knew that she would have to learn how to care for people who were clearly traumatized by their memories. However, it seemed she would be getting a lot of practice with this team and she didn't know if that was a good thing- _Bell...Sims...and now..._

" _Comment tu t'appelles?"_ When registering his questioning side glance, Eloise quickly corrected herself. "What is your name?"

"Alex Mason," he answered when they got closer to the door. "Fuck-"

Before she could react properly or adjust his slack grip, Mason had tumbled down onto the grass as his legs gave away. His overpowering weight took her down with him much to her resistance. Eloise unwrapped his arm from her shoulder, gradually losing all feeling of her toes as the cold took over and drained them of their color.

"Shit," he cursed again. "I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologizing," Eloise sighed, fishing for a cigarette and a lighter in her jacket pocket. She figured she should wait for him to get up on his own accord. "Not your fault, _mon ami_."

After the sound of her lighter flicking and the following silence, Mason finally asked, "What about you?"

She turned her head to the side as though asking a wordless question. "Your name," he elaborated. "Never got it."

"Eloise." She hesitated to grant him the last name, but knew he would find out either way. "Vasiliev."

The French woman waited for him to pester her about the Russian surname, but was pleasantly surprised to find that it never came. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette from her pack laying on the grass and decided to also enjoy a smoke, like they were old time friends. He certainly deserved one by the looks of him.

Mason looked over his shoulder to the house behind them. "This your place?"

She held back an incredulous laugh. _Le américain_ assumed she was a Soviet. " _Non_ , it is not," Eloise took a drag of burned tobacco, relishing the newfound warmth that flooded her lungs. " _Je suis française_. My father was the Russian."

He made a sound of acknowledgment, but did not press further than that and merely continued to look out into the distance with her. It seemed she was not the only one who appreciated the illusion of freedom the field provided.

"What were you doing?" She questioned warily, beckoning her chin over to where she originally found him standing. He slowly turned his head towards that area as well, somewhat off guard by the inquiry.

"You don't know who I am?"

Eloise paused, cigarette halfway up to her lips and tried to decipher the vague statement. Was she _supposed_ to know who he was?

He took her silence as an answer, kind of appreciative of her cluelessness. It wasn't often that people did not recognize him for what happened a few years back- didn't recognize him for what he unconsciously attempted to do to President Kennedy.

"Forget I said anything," Mason brushed off after his internal dialogue. Eloise would find out somehow, someway so he might as well enjoy being a nobody for the time being- even if that meant being a nobody with underlying issues.

It was his turn to regard her, eyes wandering up lean pretty legs and manicured nimble fingers. "Wanna tell me how a girl like you got mixed up into a shit storm like this?"

"A girl like me," she scoffed with a tone of defense. _Oh mon dieu..._ " _Et_ what is that supposed to mean?" He was seemingly amused by her prickly reaction, the reason behind how a 'girl like her' managed to land a spot with their team now apparent. The French woman was empathetic, given how she had eagerly helped him, but that's exactly where it stopped- _empathetic._

"Don't take this the wrong way." And she knew that would be something she would take the wrong way by his cliched choice of wording. "But I can't say I can easily imagine you taking down a 6 foot something spetsnaz."

She thought back to Volkov's warehouse in East Berlin and how she had successfully fought her way way out of the soldier's grip. It seemed that Adler had assumed she was weaker as she looked as well, hoping she would not make it out alive. _Another loose end._ Eloise shook her head of the unpleasant recollection of what went down.

"That is because I am a photographer _pour Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire_. I am not a soldier."

It made sense. The French woman had made it outside the house undetected, even when she had been standing just a few feet away from him. Eloise was a spy first and foremost before she was a combatant.

"So you're the one behind all of those damn photos," Mason mused and she skeptically nodded her head, unsure as to just how many photos he was referring to. It seemed the DST was discreetly passing along pictures to _les américains_ without her knowledge.

" _Oui_ ," she confirmed with a distant look on her face. "I point my camera wherever they tell me to."

The American seemed to have been unaware as to how late it actually was, tensing as he finally read his wristwatch. " _Shit._ We're supposed to be heading to Yamantau in a few hours." He had said it more to himself than to her, as _she_ was actually going back to East Berlin with the rest of the team, but the last bit still stood out to her. _Yamantau?_

" _Russe?_ " Eloise questioned, leaning in a bit closer. He sighed and nodded his head.

"Yeah." Mason did not seem too thrilled with that. "Something about an old mainframe. Perseus must be digging deep. Last time we saw that place was in '68. Should be worn down pretty damn bad now." Her lips parted at a certain part of his sentence that was practically screaming at her.

 _Last time_...

"You've been to _Russe,_ before _monsieur_?" Eloise was not sure if the goosebumps on her arms came from the weather or the bittersweet anticipation. The question somewhat startled him- of course he had been to Russia. It made him realize she _really_ had no clue about him. She probably did not even know about Hudson or Woods either if she was completely unaware as to where their previous operations took place.

"That's where most of our work has been," he replied with a frown. "Adler not tell you any of this?"

The mention of the horrid man made her features curl. " _Non...non_ he didn't."

"Huh..." Mason trailed off, seemingly just as stumped as she was about how 'in the dark' she really was. "You ever been?"

That almost made her laugh quietly. "Never. Though I really want to."

He scoffed at the ridiculously questionable goal of hers. Who in their right mind would want to visit such a place- though, it might've been the dreadful memories plaguing him that made him blind to whatever appeal the territory might have. Nonetheless, Mason recalled that Eloise was not only French, but Russian as well and it made sense that she would want to visit her dad's home country.

"What?" Eloise tilted her head at the grimace on his face. "Didn't enjoy your stay?" Although it was obviously a joke, it was anything but to Alex Mason. He could hardly refer to his time as a 'stay'. He wanted to burst and to shout at her and storm off, but the small smile on her face served as a good distraction. It really had been a while since he was in the company of a pretty girl...

"No." The response was clipped and her smile gradually disappeared. Mason cleared his throat, trying to compose himself and figured he could spare her the details. "I was a POW there for- well, _shit,_ more than I should've fucking been."

The world seemed to completely stop for Eloise as she processed what he had just said and she nearly cried at the admission. "You were imprisoned?"

He certainly was not expecting the breathless tone of her voice, off put by the unexpected and uncommon reaction. Eloise immediately recognized her careless mistake and frantically tried to fix the situation, mentally cursing herself for being so tone deaf, even if it had been completely unintentional. " _Je suis désolée, mon ami,"_ she genuinely apologized, thoughts racing wildly in her head. "Forgive me _si'l vous plaît_. It's just _mon oncle_ is missing and..."

Eloise did not know how to fully explain the situation to Alex Mason- a complete stranger but she really couldn't help it. It seemed she was going no where in her investigation and going all out was her only alternative left. He understood where she was going with the conversation, his shoulders then relaxed and he looked at her sympathetically.

"My father told me he was taken prisoner for his writings," Eloise explained. "I have been trying to find his whereabouts, but I have found nothing. Do you maybe..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence. He already knew what she was asking of him. Mason swallowed hard as he thought about his brutal time in Vorkuta, trying his best to avoid certain memories that triggered the vivid flashbacks and hallucinations.

"Let's see," he muttered, obviously pained by the request. She felt guilty for putting him in that situation, tempted to tell him to forget about it as she didn't mean for any harm. If she thought Sims and Vietnam was bad, this was something entirely different. "The only people I can remember is Vik-"

He scrunched his eyes shut.

"Mason. You don't have to-"

"No," he cut in defiantly. "If I'm going back today, I need to be ready." Eloise laid a comforting hand on the inside of his arm, concerned by how much he seemed to be struggling.

"Viktor Reznov," the man finished. "There was Sergei...Sergei Kozin, but I don't think I've heard of a Vasiliev. Vorkuta was a labor camp with a lot of people. Too many."

She would be lying if she said the conclusion was not something that hurt her immensely. It was more than likely her _dyadya_ was sent to a gulag, not a labor camp and she shivered at the thought. Mason had gone through all of that for nothing. "Oh."

Eloise was quiet for a brief moment, inhaling deeply and stubbing her unfinished cigarette that she had forgotten about.

"I am sorry for putting you through that," she said in a hushed voice, afraid he would hear the disappointment. "Do you think these men might know-"

"No," he replied instantly, equally as hushed. "They're all dead."

There was not anything either of them could say to make light of the heavy circumstances, each drowning in their own sorrows then and there. One might have been more intense than the other, but Mason didn't really feel alone with the stranger despite their vastly different experiences. Trauma seemed to be a good enough of a bond in their line of work.

A low whistle blew out from behind them. "Looks like you beat me to it Mason."

Eloise retracted her hand away from the man sat next to her, stiffly tucking away some hair behind her ear as they averted their glances down at the grass. The person who had interrupted seemed to sense the somber atmosphere and realized they were not in an appropriate state for him to be cracking jokes.

" _Shit_ ," he cursed in a gruff voice, adopting a more serious approach. "The fuck happened out here?" Mason and the man shared a knowing look and that seemed to tell him the whole story, recognition now in the new person's eyes.

"It happened again, didn't it?"

Alex went back to the very same way she had originally found him- ashamed. His acquaintance strode over to where they were, like he had done this a thousand times over, and extended his arm out towards the American to help him on his feet. Mason eyed the opened palm and Eloise could decipher that he didn't think he deserved the help. He felt her stare and her lips curved in a sad smile as they met eyes. A way of telling him _you're okay_.

"Come on brother," the other reassured encouragingly. "You've got a long day ahead of you." Eventually, Mason clasped his hands into his friend's grip and got up with a groan as he planted his bare feet onto the blades of grass.

It was then that the familiar person's eyes landed on her still seated form with a bit of a mischievous smirk. He walked in front of her and repeated his actions, lending a helping hand for her as well.

"You look like you're just about freezing your ass off, sweetheart," he chuckled. "I can bet Adler wouldn't be too fucking pleased if you caught a cold or something."

"Frank," Mason warned amusedly, no longer withdrawn as he was a few seconds ago. It seemed when he was around Frank's presence, he was at ease and smoothly fell into a more casual version of himself.

Eloise's brief moment of skepticism went short lived as she began to realize just how cold her limbs were and she attempted to get back up with Woods's assistance.

Her numbed legs gave out, both men quick to react and they swiftly readjusted her stance so that the young woman was able to stand on her own two feet. Woods chuckled at her expense and she bit her tongue, again, not keen on making more enemies for herself.

Hudson, Henri, and Adler were more than enough for her.

"Couple of crazy fucking kids," he said jokingly, referring to the lack of proper winter attire both she and Mason failed to put on. "And I got no invite?" Eloise knew that man was more than aware as to what exactly happened- whatever that was- but she could only assume his goal was alleviating his friend's burdening thoughts for the time being.

She did not miss Woods worriedly looking off to the side at the other American every now and then as they quietly walked back into the house.

Sergeant Woods's nonchalant demeanor held up even as he advised Mason, "Hey, you head on back. I'll catch up with you in a minute." Eloise couldn't help but stop at the foot of the staircase at the unanticipated words. Something in there that said _but not you, I want to talk to you_ was in between the lines.

Alex caught on to that as well, wordlessly questioning his friend's intentions, but much to her disappointment, took the advice regardless and made his way past her to walk back to his room. She watched him as his back faced them both, abruptly pausing halfway up the steps to regard her carefully a final time.

"Thanks Elle."

She could not remember the last time someone had thanked her so genuinely and if it weren't for the company, she probably would have smiled. " _De rien."_

The nice feeling was short lived as she felt the sergeant's burning stare, turning to find he did not look too happy when they were eventually left alone. Woods carefully peered over to the still sleeping man on the couch, leaning down closer to her face as a precaution.

"Whatever the fuck happened back there, you keep to yourself," he warned. There was that all too familiar threat. "Got it?"

Eloise had grown calloused towards the predicament she had once again found herself in- it was becoming a terrible habit, almost as terrible as her smoking one. Even more so concerning was how often it was happening with this team in particular and she almost believed it was all one grand joke for them or their warped initiation process.

He certainly was not expecting the younger woman to perk an eyebrow up lazily, slightly narrowing her eyes up at him. Eloise was completely tired of it.

"And you're threatening me, _pourquoi_?" The sergeant did not seem to be the bilingual type so she tweaked the question. "Why your hostility?"

"Look, that man up there is a brother and I'll be damned if anything happens to him. I'm just giving you a word of fucking advice, _Frenchy_ ," he explained nonchalantly. "Just don't go running your mouth and you'll be just fucking peachy."

Her mind couldn't get past the ridiculous name _Frenchy_. She let out a dry laugh. "Do you think you are funny, _monsieur_?"

There was that familiar smirk of his that he had graced her with on their initial introduction.

"You sure ask a lot of fucking questions."

"And you curse far too much to my liking."

"To your liking? Ouch, I'm fucking wounded, princess."

"Don't call me that, _si'l vous plaît_ ," Eloise sneered and Frank only seemed to be thoroughly amused by how much he had managed to rile her up. She was definitely more responsive than a lot of other people on the team, presumably because of how inexperienced and younger she was in comparison to them- Woods definitely would keep that in mind for future reference.

"Or what, _Frenchy_?"

"Is there a valid reason as to why you two are bickering like children?"

The both of their head's snapped towards Hudson who was currently glaring at them. He had managed to fully dress himself, even put on his tinted shades, without so much of making a sound. "Forget it. Can't say I'm entirely surprised."

Eloise did not miss how the statement seemed to be more so geared at Woods than to her and the sergeant noticed as well, still smirking as if he was content with himself. As he leaned against the banister, however, the curve of his lips instantly disappeared as Hudson followed with,

"Wipe that smirk off of your face, sergeant. The better question is _what the hell are you two doing_?"

The question came out louder that time around, more firm and authoritative. They were now in the hot seat and Eloise refrained from squirming on the spot as she felt Woods's eyes throwing daggers at the side of her head and Hudson scowling impatiently for the exact nature of this meeting. It was almost like Frank was _daring_ her to even mention Alex Mason. The young woman felt utterly trapped.

_Innocence is what you're best at, Eloise._  
_Allez, Eloise..._

" _Désolée_ if we woke you, _monsieur_ ," she answered calmly, even wearing a bit of a bright smile. Her tone light and airy. "Frank and I were just discussing his next mission in Yamantau." She could spot an eyebrow shooting up above a lens as he tried to detect the truth of her words. It would be _très bon_ if the brute next to her would actually chime in and help sell their alibi with her.

Woods seemed to had read her mind and laughed bitterly. "Well we _were_ having a decent fucking discussion up until you startled Eloise over here."

She wanted to snarl an objection to that, but held back from doing so. Sending a tight lipped smile over at Frank Woods and nodding in confirmation, Eloise mentally prayed this would end soon. If she was going to stand there and be thrown under the bus, she might as well use the situation to her advantage.

"How's the nose?" _Mon dieu_. "Still hurt like a b-"

" _Monsieur_ Woods has told me your team has been to _Russe_ before, _oui_?" The sergeant's head snapped towards the woman stood next to him, very obviously perplexed by the question- he never told her any of that. Hudson seemed equally wary.

"Yes," he answered stiffly, hesitant to actually provide her with that information. "It isn't the first time the CIA has taken an interest of Yamantau."

That clearly was all Hudson was going to say about the matter. Before she could open her mouth for another round of twenty one questions about Russia, they heard Sims and Lazar filing down the stairs with equipment lifted over their shoulders, fully dressed in decent outing attire. Eloise took a glance down at her watch as she had lost track of time, and sure enough, it was time for them to go back to West Berlin.

Following right behind them was Adler. He strode down to where the three of them were standing with a cigarette in its familiar home on his face.

"Woods," Adler greeted, casually blowing smoke out to the side.

Frank sent a nod of silent acknowledgment his way, eventually meeting eyes with Eloise and only then did a mischievous glint shine in them. "I'll see you around Frenchy." And after the questionable farewell, he walked back upstairs to presumably check on Alex Mason's current state. He hadn't even tried to acknowledge Jason Hudson before his departure.

No one had spoken after several seconds of tense quietness.

" _Bon matin_ ," Eloise greeted dryly, not even bothering to look at the person she was addressing. It was the first time they had said anything to one another since the confrontation a few days prior and even _he_ seemed slightly- _only_ slightly- off guard that _she_ was the one to break the silence.

Adler turned his attention back to Hudson, eyes behind shades meeting eyes behind shades. "She give you any trouble?" He took a drag from the cigarette. He spoke about her like she wasn't even present. _Putain_...

The other _a_ _méricain_ huffed, not too happy with Adler given the sour circumstances of being decked in the face and practically ganged up on several hours ago. "Even if she had been, that would be of no concern to you, Russ. Your only concern is to ensure _your_ additions to your little club don't give trouble in the first place."

With that, Hudson dismissed himself, grumbling profanities under his breath as he walked off and she knew Adler was watching him as he had done so, smoke very gradually escaping past his lips. It was definitely something that Eloise felt she probably should not have witnessed for the sake of her own well-being. Deep down, she would have been embarrassed had she been in his shoes and surely he would find a way to blame her for the scolding. His look lingered on the spot Hudson once occupied, seemingly forgetting that she was still there.

However, it didn't take long until he had uttered that mortifying command.

"You're riding with me, Vasiliev." She almost flinched at the horrid request. "Get your equipment in 5 and find a more professional getup while you're at it." 

Eloise was now conscious of her cold legs poking out of the hem of her oversized coat, flustered by her state of dress (or lack thereof). She mentally cursed him in Russian, English, and French as she dragged herself up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel like Woods is pretty protective over Mason regarding what happened and vice versa, so I promise he won't always be a jerk. I really wanted to write his character based off BO1 and BO2 bc I felt like Cold War made him more of "comedy relief" for the campaign which was ehhhh. Still love Frank tho , just wanted to share my two cents lol. 
> 
> Eloise is still very much ignorant to the brainwashing that goes on, partly due to secrecy and partly due to her focus being elsewhere. Things will start to pick up soon! 
> 
> Next Update: the ride back to berlin and more bell and Eloise doing summm research of her own


End file.
